


Sk8er Boi

by overflow



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Look at the title, M/M, aang is.... so far not even in this????, its a 90s rom com but angst, this is exactly what you think it is, toph is going blind but is not fully blind at the beginning of the fic, zuko does ballet and sokka is a sk8er
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overflow/pseuds/overflow
Summary: Zuko knows all this because not only is Sokka's house next door to his, his bedroom is too. Their windows are right across from each other, allowing both of them to look in on the other and occasionally awkwardly wave. So, Zuko sees Sokka coming home late, smoking unhappily, hanging out with his friends. And Sokka, presumably, sees Zuko doing push-ups and crunches on his bedroom floor and turning out the lights at 10:00 every night.But they’ve never really talked. They probably wouldn’t get along, anyway. Not much in common.In the words of the great Canadian poet, Avril Lavigne: "He was a punk, she did ballet... what more can I say?"
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 186
Kudos: 527





	1. Chapter 1

He can move.

He sinks in his lower back sometimes, and yeah, maybe his port-de-bras isn’t as controlled as it could be, and sure, he occasionally has trouble with overhead lifts, even when the girl is about 95 pounds, and fine, he holds tension in his hands.But Zuko can move: every leap soars, and every pirouette goes on forever, and every movement in his upper body is smooth and expressive.His body is: legs that take up all the space in the room, knees that go just past straight, feet that arch into perfect crescents, endless lines, a pretty face.

Zuko has all that, he knows he has all that.Every puzzle piece is perfectly shaped, there is no excuse not to put the puzzle together perfectly.No excuse at all.Everyone expects that final image to be breathtaking, and it will be.He will make it be breathtaking, even if putting together that puzzle takes years.Even if it’s painful.Even if the paint on some of those pieces is a little chipped.He’ll make it work.

His teacher, Iroh, examines him.“It’s good.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko huffs. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, stretches his ankles out.Cracks both his knees.“The grand jetes en tournant were a mess.”

“Only because you’re exhausted.When you’re this tired, you can’t sacrifice your technique.You can sacrifice height, but not technique.You’ll get injured.”

“I shouldn’t get this exhausted in the first place.I need better stamina.”

“It’s almost ten, Zuko.You’ve been going since nine in the morning.Anyone would be tired.”

“I’m not anyone.”

Iroh smiles good-naturedly.“Has anyone ever told you that this level of perfectionism is a little narcissistic?”

Zuko glares. So he wants the variation to be good—so what?It needs to be good.Prix de Lausanne preliminaries are just a few months away, and he chose a notoriously difficult variation—the Prince Variation from Sleeping Beauty, filled with wild, powerful jumps that require technical perfection to land, that go on and on until he feels like he’s going to vomit from sheer exertion.No one competes with that variation—it’s only ever performed by professionals who have already gone through the competition circuit and found their company, who have earned their stripes and worked their way up to become principal dancers.It’s unheard of for a teenager to even attempt it.

But Zuko wanted to do it, and Iroh thought he could pull it off, so—here they are.

If he goes on stage and he’s a mess, if he can’t pull it off perfectly, he’ll never live it down.How arrogant, people would think, for a sixteen year old to think he was good enough to do that.

Mathias Heymann did it best.He’s a principal dancer at Paris Opera Ballet.Zuko films himself dancing, and puts that video side by side with the one of Mathias on Youtube.

“Alright, let’s call it a night,” Iroh says.“Make sure to roll out and ice your knees and hips.”

“Wait, can I do it one more time?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously, Iroh, I’m fine.I want to do it again.I’m not even tired.”

“Well, I am.It’s ten o’clock.I’m done working.”

“But I—“

“Good night, Zuko.Good work today.”Iroh gives Zuko a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then ushers him out of the studio.

Zuko gets into his car—well, his dad’s car—and drives home, where his dad will have some perfectly healthy dinner ready for him, where he’ll ice his feet and knees, where he’ll roll out his muscles, paying special attention to his back, which has been twitching and cramping for the best few weeks, where he’ll shower and half-ass his homework and pass out.It’s the same every night, and has been for years.

When he gets home, his next door neighbor is in his driveway with his skateboard, practicing some trick.Zuko’s met the kid—Sokka, he thinks.He’s about Zuko age, and goes to the public high school in their hometown. He’s sort of beautiful, in a clichéd, nineties movie punk-slash-bully type of way—the type of beautiful that normally accompanies stupid.He dresses like it’s 1995 and Doc Martens are still edgy.And he likes to skateboard, and party, and smoke weed, and hook up with his debate-team girlfriend, or fuck buddy, or friend with benefits, or whatever the hell she is.She keeps her notes in binders and wears headbands.

Zuko knows all this because not only is Sokka’s house next door to his, his bedroom is too.Their windows are right across from each other, allowing both of them to look in on the other and occasionally awkwardly wave.So Zuko sees Sokka coming home late, smoking unhappily, hanging out with his friends.And Sokka, presumably, sees Zuko doing push-ups and crunches on his bedroom floor and turning out the lights at 10:00 every night.

But they’ve never really talked.They probably wouldn’t get along, anyway.Not much in common.

But as Zuko is walking from his car to the front door, Sokka falls off his skateboard.And it’s not just a tiny stumble, he completely wipes out.He doesn’t even land on his hands and knees, he literally lands flat on his stomach and chest and face, like a cartoon character who slipped on a banana.

“Oh, fuck,” Zuko says.

The kid doesn’t even move.He just lies there.

“Um, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sokka mumbles.“I’ve just. Accepted defeat.”

“Oh.That’s cool.”

But Sokka still doesn’t move.

“Should I, like, get your dad?Or my dad?”

“No.Don’t get anyone’s dad.”Sokka pushes himself up, slowly and lazily.He doesn’t even stand, just sits cross-legged on the pavement, smiling lazily.“Your name is, like, Zuke, or something, right?”

Zuko smirks.“Zuko.”

“Right.Zuko. I never see you at school.”

“I’m home-schooled so that I can train more,” Zuko explains, scuffing his sneakers against the sidewalk.Is this kid going to get up any time soon?

“Are you like, a gymnast, or something?I watch you through your window, stretching and stuff.Which is super creepy, now that I’m saying it out loud.”

“No, I’m a ballet dancer.”

“Ballet?That’s cool,” Sokka says.Then he grimaces, like he doesn’t think it’s cool at all.

There’s a painfully long pause that Zuko doesn’t know what to do with, until he figures out that it’s his turn to speak.To ask some polite question.“What do you do?”

“What?”

“Like, after school.Do you play any sports?Do school plays?Model UN? Anything like that.”

“I skate,” Sokka says.

“But what are you good at?”

Sokka licks his lips.“Normally, I’m good at it.I normally don’t fall like that.”

“I fall like that all the time.In ballet.But it doesn’t mean I’m not good at it, I guess.Baryshnikov fell all the time.That’s what everyone says.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“He was a ballet dancer.”

“Yeah, I got that from…context. I just don’t know. Specifically.”

“I think this is the worst conversation I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh.Thanks.”

Zuko turns to go inside, but Sokka scrambles to his feet.

“Wait.I’m going to a party later.If you want to come.”

“I’m okay.I have to be up early for ballet tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow’s a Saturday.”

Zuko shrugs.His chest is warm, suddenly.His neck, too, and his whole face, actually.Which is stupid.So his hot neighbor invited him to a party that he’ll have a terrible time at.Does that type of thing really have this sort of affect on him?

“You probably don’t get invited to real parties, since you’re homeschooled and everything.Unless ballet people throw parties.”

“Not really.But I’d say no, even if I did get invited.”

“Well, how would you know, if you’ve never been invited?”

“Because you just invited me, and I said no.”

“That’s kind of lame.”

“Okay. Good night.”

And with that, Zuko exists the dullest, most awkward interaction he has ever been a part of. _Well_ , he thought, _now I know why we don’t talk._

Inside, his dad is ready with dinner for him—chicken, vegetables, rice.Some protein mixed in there somewhere, because Zuko can’t stomach the shakes, but they both know he needs to be putting on muscle.Zuko scarfs it down.

“How was dance?” Dad asks.

“Mmm, good,” he says around a mouth full of rice.

“Did you get a video of you running your variation?”

All the warmth from Zuko’s chest disappears, making way for hard, cold, ice.Zuko hands im his phone.Watches as he presses play, looks away as he begins to watch.Holds his breath.

“Tighter fifths on your tours,” he says, handing the phone to him.The ice in his chest cracks, just slightly.

“Iroh says not to worry about the tours, he says they’re fine,” he mumbles, staring at his lap.

“Fine won’t get you to the Prix finals.”

“There’s still a few months until the preliminaries.”

“It’ll come up on you faster than you think.”

Zuko nods and tries to unclench his jaw.There’s no use in arguing, especially when he’s wrong.His fifths do need to be neater; Iroh just thinks that he should focus on the big jumps, first, but he’ll have to do detail work eventually.“I’ll work on them. I’m focusing on the ménage section right now though.”

His dad nods, seemingly placated.“How’s Toph doing?”

“She’s good.Doing Grand Pas Classique.”

“She’s talented. Good technique.”

Zuko looks down at his empty plate.“Can I have more rice?”

“No.You can have more chicken, though.”

“I don’t want more chicken, I want more rice.”

Dad gets him more chicken.

Protein.

“Maybe for Nutcracker Toph be Sugar Plum and you’ll be Cavelier. You two would make nice pas de deux partners.”

“Mmm, we’d be in different casts.Iroh will never let us be partners.”

“Why not?”

The real reason is because Iroh thinks they’d work each other—and him—to death.The reason he tells his dad is: “He says she’s not the right size for me.”

“Toph’s not a big girl.”

Zuko shrugs.

“Look, if you’re not strong enough to lift a girl that size, then that’s a problem.If you’re stuck partnering Mai forever just because she’s skinny—“

“Mai’s a good dancer.”

“She’s an alright dancer.But you and Toph are the best in the school and you should be pas partners.I know that Mai’s your girlfriend, but she doesn’t have to be your pas partner, too.”

“Iroh’s choice, not mine.”

“You need to get stronger.Eat your chicken.”

The rest of the meal passes in silence.Zuko tries to think of something else to say, but he and his dad don’t really talk about anything but ballet.It seems to be all he cares about, but Zuko knows that’s not true.He loves him, and everything, it’s just—

Dad was a ballet dancer.Had a contract with ABT, and worked his way up the ranks. But just a few months after he was promoted to Principal Dancer, he injured his knee, and well, that was that.So, college and marriage and babies, on girl and one boy, both with perfect dancer’s bodies.But now Azula is off training at the Vaganova Academy in Russia, and well, his dad needs someone’s training to hyper-focus on, god damn it.

Zuko knows it’s not “normal.”But it’s also not normal to be the best, so.And maybe it would be one thing if Zuko didn’t really like ballet, but he does, so it’s fine that Dad pushes him so hard.It’s helpful.

Zuko has trouble sleeping that night.And as he lies in his bed, shrouded in darkness, he looks into Sokka’s room as he comes home.Watches him relax with his friends late at night.Watches him drink and smoke.Watches him make out with his debate-team quasi-girlfriend.

Sometimes, it feels like while everyone else has been growing up, Zuko has been doing tendus.

He watches until Sokka’s friends pass out on the floor.Until the girl goes home.Until Sokka flips the light off.And then he falls asleep.

***

“I have so many blisters,” Toph whispers, looking down at her toes.They sit on the floor by the barre together, stretching.“So many blisters.”

“I have zero blisters,” Zuko says, stretching his feet.

Toph hits him with a pointe shoe.“Only because men don’t go on pointe.That’s male privilege.”

Zuko snorts, then goes back to stretching.They’re about thirty minutes early, so it takes a while for the other kids to start filtering in.But eventually, Mai plops down next to them and gives Zuko a kiss on the cheek, then starts sliding on her soft shoes.She never wears pointe shoes for barre.

“Do you want to come to my house tonight?” she offers.“We can do a movie night, or something.”

Zuko looks at her—her bun surrounded by a halo of flyaways, her tights torn, no make-up.She sees him watching, and she smiles tiredly, prettily, leaning back against her elbow so he can see every rib straining against her cotton leotard.A movie night would be nice, but… “I’m going to be here late tonight.”

“Well, come over after.”

“It’ll be pretty late.”

She lowers her voice to a whisper.“My parents won’t be home.”

Which would be tempting, except Zuko doesn’t really know what she’s getting at, considering that she’s a born-again virgin and isn’t going to let him have sex with her anyway.Her parents aren’t home, so… they’ll hold hands extra tightly?Maybe make eye contact for more than ten seconds at a time?

Mai used to be a party-girl, lost her virginity at fourteen, (“Which doesn’t make her a slut, have some fucking respect for women, asshole,” Toph berated Zuko, once), and it was all good until her period stopped coming.Well, she turned out not to be pregnant, just underweight, (which is really not a big deal at all, according to Mai), but it terrified her like a near death experience.It was as if Jesus came to her in a dream and said, “hey, maybe stop getting 95% of your calories through vodka” but Mai heard, “never have any sex for the rest of your life, never go to any parties, and date that uptight kid in your ballet class to make sure you stay in line.”And then Jesus came to Zuko and said, “if you don’t socialize outside of ballet for at least 30 minutes a week you’re going to go insane.”

So now they’re in a relationship.

“What will I tell my dad?” Zuko asks.

Mai shrugs.“Sleepover with someone?”

“Okay.”

Zuko gets permission from his dad, sets everything up, but by the time he’s done at the studio, he’s exhausted.It’s a full day: Technique class, then men’s class, then pas de deux, Nutcracker prep, then private rehearsals with Iroh for Prix de Lausanne.And it’s the sixth day in a row he’s been dancing ten hour days, and all he wants to do is fall into a brief coma.

He showers, flops into bed, and texts Mai: _hey, im super tired and i think im just gonna pass out. really sorry_

Mai: _seriously_?

There’s a sinking feeling in Zuko’s chest. _I’m sorry.I’m just so exhausted._

It takes a while for Mai to respond, and when she does, it’s not what Zuko expects: _Am I doing something wrong?_

_What?_ Zuko types back frantically. _Why would you think that?_

_Sometimes it feels like you never want to hang out with me.Am I too clingy or something?_

Zuko drop his head against back against the pillow.Fuck.He knows that he’s been neglecting Mai, has been a shitty boyfriend, and he’s known that eventually she’d react.But he always expected her to get angry or jealous, the way girls did on TV shows.You’ve been ignoring me, we’re doing on a date tonight.Let me look through your phone. You’re tired, being with me should rejuvenate you.He didn’t expect her to get insecure.

_It’s not about you_ , Zuko replies. _I promise.I’ve just been really focused on prix de lausanne_

Mai doesn’t reply.

Let’s reschedule, Zuko says. _Tomorrow.Pancakes + movie???_

Mai replies moments later: _okay :)_

Well, she seems placated, at least.He knows he has to be a better boyfriend if he wants this to last.But when he starts thinking about the relationship lasting, he feels an acute tightening sensation in his whole body, the same way he feels when he’s trying to force another rotation out of a wobbly pirouette.Staring at some spot on the wall until his eyes burn, willing his gaze to whip the rest of his body around one last time.

He lets his head fall to the left, and sees through his window, Sokka, lying on his bed, texting just like him.Zuko watches him for a moment, wonders who he’s texting.Is he making plans with friends?Maybe he’s going to another party tonight.He seems like the kind of kid who would get invited to lots of parties.Seems like the kind of kid who would walk through the hallway at school and all the girls would blush walking past him and all the guys would do that weird, bumping-into-each-other-but-affectionately thing to him and his Spanish teacher would be like, “fuck me under the bleachers, Sokka.”

Well, maybe not that last one.

Sokka drops his phone and glances over at Zuko, catching him staring.Zuko blushes hard but doesn’t look away. Sokka starts blushing too.Then he gets up and opens his window.Zuko follows his lead, then plops down on a bean bag by the window.Sokka stands.

“Hi,” Sokka says.

“Hi.”

“How was ballet?”

Zuko shrugs.“Kind of tiring.I have a day off tomorrow though.”

“Maybe we can hang out?” Sokka offers, his entire face reddening.

Zuko’s chest heats up again, like it had last night.But he has plans with Mai tomorrow, and he can’t bail on her again.“I can’t.I just—made plans, a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.”Sokka’s face falls.His gaze drop to his lap, his hand floats to his hair, and—

“But another time!” Zuko says.“Another time, we should definitely hang out.Definitely.”

“Definitely,” Sokka echoes.

“How was the party?” Zuko asks.

Sokka smirks.“Don’t even remember.”

“What do you—Oh.”

“Yeah.So I’m, like, pretty hungover.”

“You don’t look hungover.”

“Well, I am,” Sokka says snappishly.“You don’t even go to parties, how would you know what hungover looks like?”

“Okay,” Zuko says, feeling chastised, suddenly aware of how Sokka is standing up while he is sitting down.How he has to tilt his head up to look at him.“Sorry.”

Sokka shakes his head. “No. Sorry, I shouldn’t have—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Zuko mumbles.He looks at his lap, picks at the drawstring of his pajama pants.Looks up at Sokka.“What are your friends like?”

“Which one?”

“Your best friend.”

Sokka climbs onto the windowsill and sits down, so his feet dangle down over the side of his house.

“Be careful!” Zuko says.

Sokka smirks.

“I’m serious.That’s dangerous, you could get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.This ledge is sturdy,” Sokka says, then looks off to his left.“I guess my best friend is probably Jet.Or at least I spend the most time with him.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s cool.We’ve been friends since we were, like, three.And he skates, too.He’s funny.He does good impressions.He’s into, like, business stuff?Always trying to come up with some billion dollar idea.”

“Are his ideas good?”

Sokka snorts.“Nope.”

Zuko laughs.

“He’s not stupid though.Everyone at school—they think that me all my friends are dumb.And we’re not dumb, we’re just…”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.”

Sokka quirks an eyebrow.“Do you think I’m smart?”

Zuko shrugs, tries to rub the tiredness out of his eyes.“Can’t tell yet.Do you think I’m smart?”

“Smart enough to get out of going to high school.”

Zuko shakes his head, smiles.

“What’s your best friend like?”

Zuko warms.“Her name is Toph.We’ve been friends since we were twelve.And she’s a ballet dancer, too, and she’s like, really, really, really good.And she’s really funny and she’s into, like, politics, and activism, and, um, feminism, and gay rights and racial equality and stuff.”

“Politics and activism and feminism and gay rights and racial equality and stuff.”

“Yup.She’s really, like, knowledgeable.When she’s done dancing, she’s going to go to law school and be an attorney.And then the president, probably.”

“What are you going to do when you’re done dancing?”

Zuko grins.“I guess I’ll just shoot myself.”

Sokka cracks up, and Zuko laughs too, pleased with himself for his successful joke.

“What’s Toph’s stance on gun control?” Sokka asks.

“Oh, it’s ‘no one gets a gun, except for Zuko, who can have one but has to shoot himself within thirty seconds of getting it.’”

“Well, she has my vote.”

Zuko giggles.“Are you going to another party tonight?”

“No.I might go over to Jet’s but… I don’t—“He cuts himself off, suddenly clams up, staring at something behind Zuko.Zuko whips around: it’s his dad, standing in the doorway with a a basket of laundry, staring at Zuko and Sokka.

“What’s going on?” Dad asks.

“We’re just talking,” Zuko mumbles, sheepish.He looks down at his lap and picks at his nails, waits for whatever is coming next.He feels as though he’s broken a rule that he didn’t know existed.

“I didn’t know you two were friends.”

Zuko shrugs.

“Have you stretched yet?”

Zuko nods.

Dad raises an eyebrow.“Have you?”

“No,” he admits.

Zuko watches Dad’s face go through twelve different emotions, before settling on patience.“Just make sure you do before bed.”Zuko agrees, and he closes the door before she goes.

Zuko turns back to Sokka.“Sorry.”

“He’s strict,” Sokka says.

“I guess.”

“Are you going to stretch?”

Zuko shakes his head.“Too tired.”

“Always tired,” Sokka says, and as if on cue, Zuko yawns.Sokka laughs.“You should go to bed.”

“Probably,” Zuko says.“Not yet, though.”

“Not yet,” Sokka says softly.

They stay up talking for hours, just chatting about nothing.It’s not talking to someone who knows nothing about ballet, who isn’t going to bring up gossip at the studio or how their fouettes are so bad.Instead they talk about: Sokka’s skateboarding, cities they want to travel to, movies they’ve watched recently.—Sokka is adamant that the best movie of the year is Parasite.Zuko hasn’t seen it.Stupid jokes that don’t make any sense.They keep going until Zuko can barely keep his eyes open, and Sokka says softly, “you’re tired.Sleep.”

And he does.

***

The next morning, Zuko goes to Mai’s house to fulfill his promise of pancakes and movies.Mai’s still in her PJs when she answers the door, and she bounces towards the kitchen without so much as a hug the minute she sees him.Zuko follows, shutting the door behind him.

“Okay, so, I have all the ingredients,” Mai says, and waves her hands over them as if she’s a presenter on a cooking show.They’re all pre-measured in little cups.

“I see,” Zuko says.If his dad knew he was going over to eat pancakes, he’d kill him.Where is the PROTEIN?Nowhere, Dad.Nowhere.

The two of them start working on the pancakes, while Mai starts chatting about some TV show she’s been watching that’s _so so so good, you need to watch it._ Yeah, yeah, everything is so so so good, it’s the golden age of TV; if Zuko watched everything someone told him he needed to watch he’d die before he got the season finale of the 30th-to-last one.

Mai keeps talking, and Zuko tries to listen, tries to contribute to the conversation, but he can barely keep his eyes open.

After Zuko fucks up his third pancake-flip, Mai notices.“Are you not feeling well?” she asks, taking the spatula from him.

“No, I’m just exhausted.I was up late last night.”

Mai’s spatula hovers over an unflipped pancake, frozen.“Oh.”

“Yeah, so, that’s why…” Zuko says, watching her closely.

The spatula still hasn’t moved.“I thought the reason you couldn’t come over last night was because you were going to bed early. Because you were so tired.”

Zuko shifts his weight from one foot to the other.“Well, yeah.I was planning on it, but then I ended up just, staying up late anyway.”

“Just, in your room?”

“Just in my room.”

“You must not have been that tired, then,” Mai remarks.

This isn’t Mai.As weird as she can be sometimes, she isn’t the suspicious type.She doesn’t look for betrayal in every misunderstanding.

“What’s up with you?” Zuko asks.

“Nothing.Nothing.”Mai drops the spatula, walks away from the stove.“I have to use the bathroom.”

Zuko grabs the spatula, flips the pancakes. They’re charred black on one side, gooey and soft and creamy on the other.Duds.Mai doesn’t come back for a while, so Zuko lingers at the stove, finishing off the rest of the pancakes and trying not to think of what’s coming.

When Mai returns, they plate the pancakes in silence and sit on the couch, a couple gargantuan feet away from each other, staring straight ahead.

Zuko reaches for the remote.“What movie should we watch?”

Mai doesn’t respond.

“I heard that, uh, Parasite, is pretty good?”

“That sounds scary,” Mai mumbles.

“Yeah, I guess it’s maybe not for today.”Zuko braves a glance over at Mai—her face is blank.“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She doesn’t look at him.“I’m okay.I just think.I think, um—“ She turns to face him, makes a facial expression that Zuko can’t decipher.“I think maybe we’d be better off as just friends.”

Zuko feels the blood drain from his face.“What?”

“I’m just tired of trying to force this into something that it’s not.Force ourselves into something that we’re not.”

“I do not understand anything you’re saying to me,” Zuko says, his voice sounding very far away.Is this actually happening?

“It just feels like our relationship has reached its natural conclusion.Don’t you think?” she asks.

“No.”

“You’re just never going to be the boyfriend that I want you to be.”

Zuko shakes his head, trying to clear it.He knows he sort of fucked up, but is this seriously happening?“Because I stayed up late last night?”

“No, because—“ She sighs, shakes her head.“You’re just, like, not that into this.Which is fine, actually.It’s kind of a relief.Because I don't think I’m that into this either.”

“I am that into this,” Zuko insists, standing up. “I really like you.”

“You like having a girlfriend so that you can tell yourself that you’re normal.But you’re not normal.And I wanted you to be my boyfriend because you’re a goody-two-shoes and I thought dating you would turn me into a goody-two-shoes too.But I’m not actually that into you.Or, like, attracted to you.”

“Oh.Thanks.”

“Doesn’t it just feel like we’re not actually dating?Like, we’re just friends who hold hands sometimes.”

“Only because you don’t want to have sex!”

“Why would I want to have sex with you? I just said I’m not attracted to you!”

Zuko takes a step back as if he’s been burned.As if she’s fire.

So their relationship is stupid, fine.But she doesn’t want him at all?That stings, it slices, it… It feels like he’s been cut first in an audition.Which has never happened to him.Except now it’s happening, and it’s his fucking girlfriend who’s telling him his alignment needs improvement.

“Seriously, Zuko, you don’t want to have sex with me either, admit it.All you ever think about is ballet.You’d be in mid-orgasm thinking about triple-tours.You don’t even want a relationship!You can never hang out because you’re always at the studio, and then when we do hang out, you just talk about ballet.And like, I get it, ballet is great, and beating your sissones is like—“ Chef’s kiss. “But seriously, you’re so tunnel-visioned that you can’t think about this relationship at all.So why be in it?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Anyway, since neither of us want this, let’s just stop.Let’s just stop forcing it, and be friends, and we can finally relax.So.Let’s eat these pancakes as friends.”

Zuko’s eyes burn.He sits down, grabs the plate, realizes what he’s doing, then starts shaking his head.Is he really going to eat pancakes with his non-girlfriend?Is he really going to platonically eat pancakes and watch a movie?These pancakes, that they made as boyfriend and girlfriend—he’s supposed to eat these as friends? These fucking consolation pancakes?With no protein?

“Actually, I’ll go home.”

***

Zuko spends the rest of the morning sulking.At noon, he mopes.From one to three, he broods.From three to six, he despairs.Six to seven, he pouts.At seven, he takes a break to shower and masturbate (somberly).At eight, he languishes.And at ten, Sokka opens his window.So Zuko opens his.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sokka asks.“You’re in a pit of despair.”

“‘My girlfriend broke up with me,” Zuko spits.

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Not anymore!”

“Well, yeah, but.I’m just surprised you had a girlfriend.”

“Because all male dancers are gay, Sokka?” Zuko spits.“That’s a stereotype.” _Even if it does, sort of, kind of, maybe apply to Zuko._

“No, you just didn’t seem like the type of person who would date.”

Zuko starts pacing.“She said our relationship has reached its natural conclusion.Who says that?”

“Uh, your girlfriend?”

“She also said she wasn’t attracted to me.”

“Maybe _she’s_ gay.”

Zuko stops pacing.Looks at Sokka.Looks back at the wall.Goes back to pacing.“That’s flattering.Thanks.”

Sokka shakes his head, sits on the ledge of the window.“That sucks, dude, I’m sorry.But, you know, you’ll be sad for a while, you’ll miss her, and then, you know, you’ll move on.Find someone new.”

“I’ll never get over her insulting me like that. Forget someone new!My ego, Sokka.”

“It’s bruised.”

“It’s far more than bruised.It’s broken.It’s… It’s…”

“Disemboweled?”

“Yes!She disemboweled me!”

Sokka laughs, then, slowly, sobers.“Do you think that you’ll actually miss her?”

“I won’t even have the opportunity.I’ll see her every day in ballet.”

“Miss dating her, I mean.”

Zuko thinks about it.Dating her was… It felt more like a performance than anything else.A show where they were each both the audience and the performer.Every date was like a checkmark on their to-do lists.“No.I mean, dating her was… I don’t know.It wasn’t bad, it was just… unnatural.”

“Then maybe she was right to break up with you.Maybe you’re better off just being friends.”

Zuko shakes his head.Mai was not right.

“I’m serious.You don’t actually seem sad about the relationship ending.You’re just upset that she rejected you.”

Most of the heat of Zuko’s anger dissipates, leaving nothing more than passionless annoyance.He falls onto his beanbag but her window.“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles.“You have your perfect hot girlfriend.”

Sokka’s face wiggles.“What perfect hot girlfriend?”

“You know, the girl that comes over, with the—headbands.You and her make out a lot,” Zuko says, then blushes, and stares at his lap.‘Not that I’ve been watching.But you leave the curtains open and you’re right there and sometimes I just see it.”

When Zuko looks up, Sokka’s jaw is hanging open.“Suki is _not_ my girlfriend.”

“She’s not?”

“Of course not!She’s on the debate team!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“How am I supposed to date someone on the debate team?”

“I am really not following.”

“She’s hot,” Sokka explains.“But she’s… preppy and high-maintenance, and she would never be caught dead dating me and I’d never be caught dead dating her.”

“But you make out with her.”

“I fuck her, too.”

Zuko drops his voice by several octaves. _“Oh, look at me, I’m Sokka, and I have sex, I’m so cool.”_

Sokka ignores him.“We have sex.But no one knows about it.And there are no emotions in it.”

“Oh,” Zuko mumbles, embarrassed. Of course Sokka isn’t the type of guy who needs feelings to fuck.He must think Zuko’s so innocent.So naive.

“Well, she’s not.She’s just, you know, a body.”

“Alright, chill out, Donald Trump.Don’t make Toph come over here and beat you up.”

Sokka laughs.“Alright, alright.But.Yeah.She’s not my girlfriend.”

“So neither of us have girlfriends,” Zuko muses.

“So neither of us have girlfriends,” Sokka echoes.

There is a moment or two of silence—it starts out comfortable, but quickly grows awkward.

“So I guess we’re both losers,” Zuko blurts out, searching for something to say.

Sokka laughs, shakes his head.“I have to do homework.And it’s getting close to your self-enforced bedtime of 10:30, and you seem to be feeling better, so…”

Zuko smiles.“Yeah, I can’t let you keep me up late tonight too.”If he does, who knows who will break up with Zuko tomorrow?

“Well, then,” Sokka says, a crooked, shit-eating grin on his face, “It seems our conversation has reached its natural conclusion.”

Zuko giggles.“Good night, asshole,” he says, shutting the window.

“Good night!” Sokka calls out, climbing inside.

Zuko gets ready to go to sleep and crawls into bed, but he doesn't close his eyes.He watches Sokka through the window until his vision blurs and his eyes droop closed.Until sleep steals him away.


	2. Chapter 2

Sokka lives in a quiet house. When he wakes up on Monday morning, he’s twenty minutes late for school. His phone charger broke overnight, apparently, and his phone died in his sleep, so no alarm. And with Katara leaving at 5am for morning swim practice, there was no one else to wake him up.

He throws on jeans and a tee shirt and meanders down the stairs, each foot step making tiny thuds against the carpet. He looks out the window; his dad’s car isn’t in the driveway, typical. He thinks about breakfast. Opens the cabinets, listens to the hinges squeak as they rotate. Grabs a banana, closes the cabinet with a clunk.

He goes up to his room before he leaves, peers through his window into Zuko’s. Nothing. Just an unmade bed and some clothes on the floor. Has he already left for ballet? Or maybe he’s doing his home-school stuff now, and he does it downstairs, in the kitchen. With his dad.

He wouldn’t be his teacher, or anything, Sokka’s pretty sure that’s not how home-schooling works, but he’d be. There. In the room with him, probably.

Before he leaves, he sees Zuko’s car in the driveway, and contemplates skipping school altogether. Just waiting in his room until Zuko comes back up to his and they can chat again; Sokka can listen to his voice.

But it doesn’t make any sense. Sokka can’t sit around in silence for that long. He texts Jet.

_Hey, wanna ditch school and go to the skate park?_

Jet’s reply is instantaneous. _lmao. we are 30 min into the day. already?_

_Yes_.

What’s the worst that can happen? Sokka skips school, his dad gets a call. He shrugs it off, makes some excuse for Sokka, because that’s easier than disciplining him. And if he’s missed too many times—which is unlikely, it’s only September—and he’s actually getting in trouble, then maybe his dad will be forced to think about him for more than thirty seconds at a time.

Jet goes to the skatepark, stays for an hour, then returns to school. Sokka stays all day, watching the sun move in the sky, listening to kids laugh and scream as they come back from school, feeling the temperature rise and fall. He doesn’t really skate, just sits there, and feels the world move without him.

That night, Sokka lies on his bed and waits for Zuko to come home so they can talk again. They haven’t scheduled anything, but they didn’t schedule the other times they talked, so maybe it will just happen again naturally. Sokka hopes it will happen again naturally.

Sokka wanted to hang out with Zuko for an embarrassingly long time, but could never figure out a way to initiate it. Zuko seemed too far away, too different, untouchable, somehow. Too caught up in his training too even notice Sokka, and there wasn’t much Sokka could do to make him notice. He didn’t go to Sokka’s school, so Sokka couldn’t come up with some excuse about homework or studying. He didn’t have any of the same friends as Sokka, so they couldn’t help him figure out some sort of group hang-out. And they never really went to any of the same places, as far as Sokka could tell, so Sokka couldn’t orchestrate a “coincidental” meet-up.

Sokka’s meeting with Zuko last Friday took weeks of planning. And even that went wrong: Zuko came home later than Sokka expected, Sokka fell, the conversation was awkward. It’s a miracle that Zuko would talk to him again.

Even now, it’s hard sometimes. Zuko operates so differently from Sokka. Only a few feet from him, just through that window, is an entirely different world. One that Zuko inhabits, that he knows his way around comfortably, that he dances through.

Sokka’s spent an embarrassing amount of time looking through that window, watching Zuko. As he studies, as he relaxes, as he stretches. One leg gliding effortlessly up, toes to the sky, floating. Then, he grabs his knee, and tugs it impossibly closer to his torso, his leg impossibly higher. Holds it there. His feet are satellites.

The way that Zuko works, the way he pushes himself, the way he cares about something, wants something… It isn’t something Sokka can relate to. It’s not something he knows how to talk about, and when Zuko asked, what are you good at, Sokka felt something inside him rot and fall off. Nothing.

Sokka shakes his head. It doesn’t matter; Zuko is coming home now. He walks into his room, a gym-bag draped over his shoulder, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Sokka looks at his watch. 10:15. Does he really train this late every night?

Zuko disappears into the bathroom, and when he returns, he’s freshly showered. Sweatpants, a tee-shirt with “Vaganova” printed across the front, wet hair swept back. Normally, his long hair drapes over his eyes and ears, obscuring the scar that covers about a quarter of his face. The skin there is red and angry, tight and wrinkly— a burn scar, he and Katara figured out together. It hadn’t always been there, and Sokka remembers the banging on the door from the night it happened. Remembers Zuko’s little sister crying, “My brother’s really hurt, my dad isn’t home, please help, please help!” And Sokka’s dad took the thirteen-year-old boy to the hospital, while Sokka, Katara, and Azula sat in the living room shaking.

Sokka never really found out exactly what happened.

Zuko goes straight for the window, all smiles.

Sokka follows his lead, opens up his as well.

Zuko flops down on his bean bag. “Hi.”

Sokka grins back. “Hi.”

“I can’t talk long, I have to be up in the morning.”

“I figured,” Sokka says. “So do I. I have school, and I have to go, because I skipped today.”

Zuko frowns. “Why?”

“Felt like it.”

Zuko narrows his eyes. “What a rebel,” he whispers.

Sokka rolls his eyes. “What’s Vaganova?”

“Vaganova,” Zuko says, correcting his pronunciation, but Sokka can’t hear the difference. “It’s a ballet school in Russia—they feed into Mariinsky Ballet. I did a summer intensive with them. My sister goes there full time.”

“Do you want to dance there?”

Zuko shakes his head. “It’s, uh…I don’t know, Russian ballet is beautiful, and they’re all technically perfect, and they are really, really good…”

“But?” Sokka asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Zuko takes a deep breath. “They like a really specific aesthetic. Everyone has to be thin, but being thin isn’t enough, you have to be thin in a really specific way, and you have to be tall, but not just tall, your legs have to be a certain length in proportion to your torso, and everyone has to be pale, and when you look on stage, it’s, you know, it’s beautiful, but it feels like you’re looking at a bunch of clones. There’s no humanity in it, and isn’t that what ballet is supposed to be about? Isn’t that what art is supposed to be about?” Zuko lights up, talking about it. His hands fly everywhere and his eyes dart from place to place and his eyebrows dance. He takes no pauses.

“Wow,” Sokka says.

“And they do blackface for La Bayadere.”

Sokka blinks. “So. Fuck Mariinsky, then.”

“Fuck Mariinsky,” Zuko echoes, then looks down at his shirt. “But they make comfy tee-shirts, and this was free, okay?”

Sokka smiles. “Don’t worry, I won’t call Toph.

Zuko shakes his head. “Toph kind of likes them. Everyone kind of likes them, because they’re great, regardless of how much they suck. They’re arguably the best ballet company in the world. I hate it when terrible people are good at things.”

“Arguably the best?”

“Well, there’s a top four. Bolshoi, Mariinsky, Paris Opera, and the Royal.”

“And which do you want?”

Zuko smiles. “I’ll go wherever. I just want to dance.”

Sokka lets it go. The kid has a favorite, Sokka can tell, but for whatever reason, he’s not budging.

“What about you, where do you want to go to college?” Zuko asks.

Senior year of high school, ladies and gentlemen. Even in your 90s rom-com fantasies, you cannot escape The College Process. 

“I don’t know,” Sokka says.

“You must have some idea.”

“Nope,” Sokka says, popping the P.

“But—“

“I don’t even think I want to go to college.”

Zuko stares. “What will you do instead?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, what, you’ll just sit around?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you have no other plans.”

“I’ll find something that I’m good at.”

“You’re not going to find out what you’re good at if you’re just sitting at home doing nothing.”

Sokka shakes his head. “You’re being really judgmental.”

“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles, ducks his head. He picks his cuticles for a second before abruptly stopping, looking up. “But do you want me to lie? It’s a pretty big life decision.”

“I don’t want you to lie, I just…” Sokka shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he wants.

“You just want me to sit here and say nothing.”

“Honestly, yeah.”

“Well, if I were making a dumb decision, I’d want someone to tell me that it’s dumb.”

“I don’t need someone to tell me what to do. I can figure it out for myself.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I will let you make your dumb decisions in peace.”

“Thank you.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, Zuko staring at his lap and chewing at his cheek. “I didn’t mean to start a fight,” he mumbles.

Sokka wonders if he went too far—Zuko seems to be a little sensitive about people getting angry with him. Sokka wasn’t really _angry,_ just uncomfortable, and maybe he should have reacted better, but—how is he supposed to talk about his future, when Zuko, ballet prodigy and goal-oriented robot is sitting in front of him? What the fuck is he supposed to say?

“Let’s just talk about something else,” Sokka says. Struggles to think of something. “Do you have any pets?”

And Zuko laughs. Just, really, really, starts cracking up, eyes closing, lips peeling back, bottom teeth and gum and tongue all exposed. Cheeks pink.

“What?” Sokka asks. Zuko keeps laughing. “What?”

“Nothing,” Zuko says, between laughs. “Nothing, it’s just. We have no idea how to hold conversations.”

“Okay, it wasn’t that bad!”

“It’s just so awkward!”

“Can you just answer the question?” Sokka says, his neck and cheeks heating up. How the fuck does Zuko manage to get these reactions out of him? Why is his default state around Zuko embarrassed?

Zuko calms down. “I have a turtle. Named Urtle, ” His voice breaks on the last word and he starts cracking up again, and Sokka can’t help but join in. “What about you?” he asks.

“No pets.”

“That’s melancholy.”

“It is. It is a tragically lonely experience.”

“Hold on,” Zuko says, standing up. He walks to the opposite side of his room, around a corner that Sokka can’t see, and then returns with a tiny turtle in his hands. “Behold. Urtle.”

“He’s pretty cute.

“He’s my best friend.”

“That is slightly pathetic,” Sokka says, and Zuko laughs. “And, might I add, that position is filled. What happened to Toph?”

“Oh, she died.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Urtle killed her to get the top spot. Poisoned her.”

“Am I next?”

“Nah,” Zuko says, shaking his head. “I’ll make sure he keeps you around.”

Sokka smiles, ducks his head, heat rising from his chest.

“What I really want is a cat,” Zuko says wistfully. “I like how they, like—“ He stretches out on the bean bag and nuzzles the fabric, rolling around slightly. He is, unquestionably, trying to kill Sokka.

“I’d also like a cat. Or a dog. Just. Something who’d be excited to see me when I got home,” Sokka says, then clamps his mouth shut. Too much, too much, too much.

Zuko gives him a small, sweet smile. “I’m excited to see you when you get home.”

“Then you’ve really got this cat thing down.”

Zuko giggles, looks down at his lap and then up at Sokka through his lashes—intentionally? Or is he just naturally like this? “I should sleep. I have early training tomorrow, and we’re starting to prepare for Nutcracker auditions and my dad really wants me to be Cav and I just have to be really on top of my shit right now.”

Sokka narrows his eyes. “Do you want to be… Cav?”

Zuko shrugs. “I mean, it’s the male lead, so.”

“Sounds pretty good.”

“I like talking to you a lot,” Zuko says around a yawn, his words garbled and stretched out. He doesn’t blush; maybe he’s too sleepy to be embarrassed. Maybe he just doesn’t get embarrassed about liking people. “Even if we fought about college.”

“Me too,” Sokka repeats, dumbly. “I mean, I like talking you too, you, not that I like. Talking to myself.”

Zuko grins. “Yeah, I got that.” His eyes start to droop shut. “I really should sleep.”

“Don’t,” Sokka says. “Stay up with me.”

Zuko shakes his head. Shakes, shakes, shakes, like he always does. That’s just the way he moves: nothing cut short, nothing watered down, nothing held in. Sokka’s hit with a sudden desire to see him onstage. To see him dance, really dance, not just what he does in his bedroom.

“I’ll get in trouble,” he mumbles.

“With who? Who will know?”

Zuko shrugs. “If I’m tired tomorrow, I won’t dance as well, and… I don’t know. People will notice. Maybe not, but I’ll notice.” His face erupts with a grin then. “I’ll be in trouble with myself.”

They spend maybe twenty more minutes torn between talking more and going to sleep, but eventually, sleep wins. Ballet wins. That’s the way it goes with Zuko, it seems, the way it always will go. Ballet will win.

***

Zuko and Sokka start to settle into a routine, after that. Every night, after ballet, Zuko opens his window and they talk for an hour or two. They learn more about each other. Zuko tells Sokka that his mom lives in France, but his parents aren’t divorced. It doesn’t really make sense to Sokka, but he doesn’t want to push. Sokka tells Zuko that his mom is dead. Zuko pushes, gently.

“How old were you?” he asks.

“Three.”

Zuko nods, lets it go. But a week later, he asks, “Do you remember her?”

“So little I can’t tell if I’ve just imagined it.”

That’s all they talk about it. Sokka doesn’t tell him how his mom died, and Zuko doesn’t ask. So in return, Sokka doesn’t ask about Zuko’s dad, even though he wants to. Even though he wants, so badly, to know what it’s like to be her son. To come home everyday and have someone who asks him about his day and makes sure he’s alright and takes care of him when he’s sick. But Zuko doesn’t seem to want to talk about him, so Sokka doesn’t ask.

But Sokka wonders how much of Zuko can be credited to his dad. It’s his genetics that makes him such a gifted dancer, right? It’s his encouragement and support that helps him work hard, right? Sokka just wants to know. Wants to know what he might be if he had a dad like that.

Once, on one of the rare nights that he and his dad ate dinner together, Sokka carefully tells her about Zuko.

“I’ve been hanging out with Zuko lately,” Sokka says.

“Who?” he asks.

“The kid next door.”

“Oh,” he says. “I don’t know him.” Then he checks his email.

Every time Sokka and Zuko talk, it’s difficult for them to stop. Zuko always knows he has to sleep if he wants to do his best at dance the next day, but he can’t seem to pull himself away. He always says the same thing, “I have to sleep, but I don’t want to.”

And sometimes Sokka tells him to sleep. But sometimes, he says, “stay up, talk to me. Fuck tomorrow.” And yeah, it’s partially because Sokka wants to keep the conversation going, too, but—

There’s a part of him that wants to keep Zuko up, that wants him to start slacking off and fucking up. That wants him to stop being so fucking good at everything, so far above Sokka. And still, Zuko wants to be something higher. Sokka could never fly up there, never, never, never. And if Zuko stays floating among the clouds and stars and moon, he’ll have no choice but to look down to see Sokka.

But Sokka normally doesn’t say that. He normally says, “Nope, you’re going to sleep!” because pulling Zuko down could hurt him, no? It would be quite a fall.

But even as they talk everyday, even with the pain of ending each conversation, they can’t seem to pull away from the windows. They never hang out anywhere else, never at any time. They don’t even have each other’s phone numbers.

Sokka looks up Zuko on instagram, but feels too weird to follow him. He just scrolls through his account, which was mostly filled with ballet photos and videos. Sokka guesses it all must be pretty impressive, because he’s amassed an intimidating number of followers.

There are a couple photos of him and Mai. Some are at the studio, him holding her hand as she holds her leg out, and some are elsewhere. Dates, or something. Sokka wonders why Zuko hasn’t deleted them yet. If he will delete them.

Sokka knows he needs to invite Zuko to hang out, he knows is (according to his own description), “anti-social,” and won’t make the first move. But he can’t figure out how to do it. Whenever he starts to ask if Zuko to like, see a movie, or go to the skatepark with him, or, um, maybe come over and do nothing together, it feels too forward, too much like a date, and far, far too revealing.

It all just makes Sokka feel exposed. And maybe Zuko doesn’t mind that, maybe Zuko lives onstage and gives it all away, but Sokka minds. Okay? He minds.

The answer, somehow, lies with Jet, with another skipped day of school spent in the skatepark, staring into the sun and saying little, thinking less. They sit at the edge of a bowl together, their feet dangling and heels intermittently kicking the concrete.

“Have you fucked your neighbor yet?” Jet asks. He always refuses to call him Zuko, comes up with something else to call him each time.

Sokka sighs. “No. We’ve just... been talking.”

“I know that. You fell in front of him and the conversation was awkward and terrible.”

Sokka kicks his heels against the pavement, rolls his eyes. Jet’s right, but he doesn’t have to be so loud about it. Besides, first impressions aren’t important anyway. “Well, I’ve been talking to him since. And it’s been better. We’ve been talking a lot, actually, our rooms are right next to each other.”

“That’s cool. I guess. He’s a ballet dancer, right?” Jet asks, his voice laced with something Sokka can’t decipher.

Sokka nods, braces himself.

“That’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Sokka concedes. “But it’s, I don’t know, kind of cool that he’s so passionate about it.”

Jet snorts. “It’s kind of weird, how into it he is. Like, home-schooled so he can do it more?” Jet whistles. “Koo-koo.”

Sokka forces out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s weird. But he’s… I don’t know.”

“Suit yourself, I guess.” Jet goes silent for a moment, then turns to Sokka again. “You seriously haven’t fucked him yet? It’s been like, a month.”

Sokka shrugs, blushes hard.

“It never took you long with Suki.”

“Suki has all this... pent-up aggression. And I don’t like her, so it’s easier.”

“But you like this kid?”

“Yes,” Sokka says, but Jet’s judgment crawls up his neck like a mass of spiders, biting him hard and swallowing him whole. “I don’t know. He’s just cool to talk to.”

They both squint straight ahead, into the light blue, endless horizon. Sky against flat concrete. Nothing on either side.

“Is your dad out of town this weekend?”

Sokka nods. “Katara, too. Swim meet out of state.”

“Throw a party...”

“I don’t know.”

“Do it,” Jet says, standing up. He toys with his skateboard for a few seconds, then stands up on it. Balances on the edge of the bowl. “Invite the ballerina.” And he’s off.

***

Here’s the problem with Jet’s bad ideas: they are, occasionally, not actually that bad. Once every third full moon, on a clear night, with wolves howling in the distance, at midnight, once you go into the bathroom with all the lights of and say “Bloody Mary” three times, Jet will come up with a good idea. And every single time, without fail, they are good in a way that completely fucks Sokka over. Worse: they’re logical and rational.

Sokka cannot find a way to hang out with Zuko outside of their windowsill-chats. Sokka is too nervous to hang out with Zuko elsewhere. A house party will be the perfect excuse to move their hangouts elsewhere. This will also give Sokka’s friends the chance to meet Zuko and size him up. It all makes perfect sense. In fact, it makes so much sense that Sokka can’t find a reason to say no to this idea.

Well, no reason except for the truth, which is, they’ll hate Zuko. They’ll hate him and Sokka will never hear the end of it, they’ll mock Sokka until they’re all dead, and then they’ll mock him from beyond the grave.

But he can’t tell them that. That’ll just make them want to meet Zuko more, that’ll just spark their interest. They’ll be dying to know what’s wrong with him.

So Sokka has no choice but to go along with this ludicrous idea. One night, at the window, he brings it up.

“So, you don’t have training on Sundays, right?”

Zuko shakes his head.

“Okay, cool. I’m, um, I’m having a party on Saturday night. If you want to come,” Sokka says, his neck and cheeks heating up.

“What kind of party?” Zuko asks.

“My dad will be out of town. That type.”

“Like a real high school party?” Zuko asks, his eyebrows flying up on his forehead.

Sokka starts nodding enthusiastically. Maybe this won’t be such a disaster, maybe Zuko will be excited for this type of thing, he’s never been a real party before. Maybe he’ll get to bring Zuko into his world and Zuko will—

“I don’t think that’s really my thing.”

Oh.

“You don’t have to drink...” Sokka tries.

Zuko waves him off. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Zuko shrugs , widens his eyes, looks pointedly at the floor. “It just doesn’t seem like my scene.”

“Have you ever been to a party like that before?” Sokka asks.

Zuko’s head snaps up. “No, but I—So what? I have better things to do.”

Sokka puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m not making fun of you. It’s just... How can you know if you wouldn’t like it if you’ve never even been?”

Zuko narrows his eyes. “Sometimes, you just know things, Sokka.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Look, you live right next door. If you don’t like it, you’re a fifteen second walk from the safety and solitude of your bedroom.”

Zuko sighs. “I don’t know...”

Sokka inspects him for a moment, tries to understand what’s holding him back. Maybe he doesn’t want to meet Sokka’s friends? Maybe he doesn’t actually like Sokka, is just using him for company each night?

Maybe, maybe, and God, please let it be this, please let it be this: He’s just nervous, because he’s never been to a party like this before. Because it’ll be a party filled with people he doesn’t know. Because he’s shy.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that you can bring Toph?” Sokka offers.

Without looking up, Zuko nods meekly.

“Then bring Toph. I’m dying to meet her, anyway.”

Zuko peeks up from behind his curls. “Really?”

No. Bringing Toph is probably a terrible idea. Then there won’t just be one weird home-schooled ballerina with a stick up their ass, there will be two. Fuck. This is going to go terribly.

“Yes,” Sokka insists. “You’ve told me a lot about her, she seems awesome.”

“Okay,” Zuko mumbles. “But if we don’t like it, we’re leaving.”

“That’s fine.”

“Or, actually,” Zuko says, louder now, more confident. “If Toph doesn’t like it, then I’ll leave with her. Even if I’m having fun, I have to. You know. Respect her wishes. And be a good friend. And be. You know. A feminist.”

“Obviously.”

***

Four days later, it’s ten PM on a Saturday. The time that Sokka told Zuko the party starts. But obviously, no one’s going to get there until like, 10:30. Maybe 11. Some people probably won’t come around until midnight. Obviously.

Except this is, apparently, not so obvious. Because at ten o’clock on the fucking dot, here comes the doorbell, here comes Zuko and his sidekick (or Toph and her sidekick? TBD), here comes glasses and corduroy pants and is she wearing a blazer? What the fuck? And God, Zuko’s worse: he’s wearing a fucking collared shirt.

They would have been better off rolling up in their fucking leotards.

“Hi!” Sokka says, smiling big and leaning forward and back rapidly as he tries to decide whether he should hug them. He shouldn’t. He definitely shouldn’t.

(Zuko looks a little different, up-close. His muscles are more defined, but he’s smaller than Sokka thought he was. A little shorter. His whole body more delicate-looking, his face so pretty he looks like a girl.

Toph just looks like a lesbian from 1992.)

“Hi, I’m Toph,” Toph says, sticking out right hand, her left hand behind Zuko’s back, like, _What are your intentions with my daughter?_

Sokka shakes her hand. “I’ve heard that you want Zuko to shoot himself.”

Zuko pushes past both of them, stepping into the leaving room. He looks around. “Are we early?”

“No, I just don’t have any friends,” Sokka teases.

They stare.

“That was. Um. A joke.”

“Oh!” Zuko says. “Ha-ha.”

“People will come. It’s just... it doesn’t really start until like, 10:30, earliest.”

“Then why did you say 10?” Zuko asks.

“Because, it, it... I don’t know!”

Toph shrugs. “That’s fair.”

The three of them make awkward conversation for the next thirty minutes. Well, actually, Toph and Zuko mostly whisper and giggle to each other while ignoring Sokka. But, as promised, people start showing up, in groups of five to ten, and they mostly drink and ignore Zuko and Toph. Sokka starts drinking, too, and loses track of Zuko and Toph, loses track of time.

He can’t be blamed: the party is loud, crowded, sticky. There are all these people that Sokka definitely didn’t invite, and he thinks he saw someone doing coke in the bathroom, and at this rate, someone will take a shit on his dad’s computer by the end of the night.

At one point, while Sokka is sitting on the couch with some of his friends, there’s a tap on his shoulder. Sokka turns, and behind him is Zuko, Toph behind him.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi. Everything okay?” Sokka says, realizing after he speaks that his speech is slightly slurred. Too many shots. Too much vodka that tastes like purell.

Zuko nods, says nothing.

“What is it?” Sokka asks.

Zuko shrugs, looks at the ground.

Toph rolls her eyes, pushes in front of Zuko. “Zuko wants you to pay attention to him.”

Zuko blushes hard, but Sokka just rolls his eyes. “Come sit, come on.” He scooches over and pats the seat on the couch next to him.

The house is crowded, loud, and there’s now way for Zuko to get around the couch, so he just climbs over the back of the couch to sit. Toph follows. They squeeze together, half in each other’s laps, but they seem comfortable with it. That’s how they’ve been all night, Sokka thinks absently. They walk so close together, like cats rubbing against one another. Everything they do together, they do... lovingly. Sokka knows he should find it sweet, but the emotion that it rouses from him is far sharper.

Sokka puts a hand on Zuko’s thigh, knowing as he does it that he’d never do it sober. “How do you like the party?”

Zuko shrugs. His face is flushed, his hair sticks to his forehead. He stares at Sokka, his mouth open slightly, his eyes wied and just slightly unfocused and--

Okay, yeah, he’s shit-faced too. Sokka peeks over at Toph, and she looks just as drunk.

Sokka squeezes Zuko’s leg. “You’re not having fun?’

Zuko stares. Nods. Slowly. Then leans his head against Toph’s shoulder and smiles at Sokka, his mouth crooked, his eyes half-lidded.

Sokka looks around the circle, tries to remember who he’s talking. Right, it’s: Jet, Haru, a girl who consistently doesn’t pull her weight in group projects, some random guy that Sokka definitely didn’t invite, and fuck, Suki is there.

Because there’s nothing better than having your open-secret-fuck-buddy with your open-secret-crush in the same room, sitting on the same couch, completely shit-faced.

Fuck, Sokka should probably introduce them.

Jet leans forward on the armchair where he sits, across from Zuko. “You’re Sokka’s neighbor, right?”

Zuko nods.

“That’s cool. Sokka says you do ballet.”

Zuko nods again.

“Do you like, speak?” Jet asks, his voice derisive.

Zuko opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “Yeah,” he says.

“Just checking,” Jet says.

“I speak,” Zuko says.

“So you speak and you do ballet and you live next to Sokka. Anything else?” Jet asks.

“Um, I...” Zuko trails off.

“He’s really good at predicting the end of movies?” Toph offers.

“That sounds like an obnoxious skill,” Haru says.

Zuko goes quiet again.

“What type of ballet do you do?” Suki asks.

“What?” Zuko asks.

“Aren’t there, like, different styles?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zuko says, nodding enthusiastically. “So, our studio does French style, but I’ve done summer intensives that are Vaganova.”

Toph gags.

“Toph doesn’t speak Vaganova,” Zuko says. “Balanchine forever for her.”

Suki smiles. “What are the differences?”

“Balanchine sucks and Vaganova is pretty,” Zuko says.

“Vaganova is slow and boring and Balanchine is super fast and cool,” Toph says.

“Balanchine was a rapist,” Zuko says. “I win.”

“When a Russian choreographs something as good as Jewels, let me know,” Toph says.

“Balanchine was a Russian.”

“He defected!”

Zuko turns back to Suki. “Balanchine is is a little more angular than Vaganova, I would say. Much, much, much faster. A lot less beautiful, I think, but his stuff is definitely interesting. But maybe less virtuosic? And there are all these little differences, frappés with a flexed foot, straight back leg on pirrouettes, you keep your hips down and leg in front of you in side extensions...” Zuko keeps going on, while everyone stops listening to him. Suki nods along for a little longer than everyone else, but Sokka can see her losing interest, and eventually she gives Zuko an apologetic smile, and turns her attention towards the middle of the circle.

Sokka glances at Zuko, watches his face fall. Sokka wants to ask him something, get him talking again, but his friends are all there, and he can’t just pay all his attention to Zuko, he can’t just...

Sokka doesn’t know. So he turns to the group, tries to participate in a conversation about whether or not the band teacher is actually fucking a sophomore. And then the conversation shifts: rumor has it that a girl in their history class got too drunk at a party and pooped in the bathtub. And again, it shifts: new skating tricks they’re trying to learn. And then: Suki’s debate team drama.

Then: sex. Body counts. Which girls give the best hand jobs, and maybe they should rank them? On a scale of one to ten, how good was the blowjob that Jet received that morning? And how does that compare to the blowjob Haru got Friday? Could they rank the girls--who, on average, gave the best blowjobs?

“How are Suki’s blowjobs, Sokka?”

Sokka’s clenches his jaw, bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Shakes his head.

“C’mon!” they say.

Sokka shakes his head, but they push and…

“Sokka, tell us.”

Sokka tries to figure out what number would be least offensive. Something good enough that it’s not insulting, but not so good that everyone knows Suki as The Girl Who Gives Fantastic Blowjobs. 

“Eight out of ten?” Sokka says, then tosses Suki an apologetic look. Her mouth pops open as her face reddens.

“Eight point five, nine, I don’t know,” Sokka says, trying to shut it down. He can feel Zuko stiffening behind him, can hear Toph whispering something to him.

“How about Zuko’s blowjobs?” Jet asks, and then, a chorus of _ooooohs_.

Sokka doesn’t know what to say. What’s worse, to admit that he’s received a blowjob from another man, or to admit that after a month of talking to Zuko, he hasn’t actually gotten any action? They already know that he has a crush on Zuko, but that’s theoretical. If he admits to actually having hooked up with him, that’s an entirely different story, who knows how they’ll react?

But Zuko makes the decision for him: “I haven’t given him a blowjob. And I’m not a girl.”

Toph momentarily looks proud, then glares at Zuko after the word girl.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is all going to shit so quickly.

“Right, I forgot he’s a prude,” Haru says. “Home-schooled, and all.”

“Gay but doesn’t even put out,” someone mumbles.

“Suki, how is Sokka?” Toph says, her voice booming. “On a scale of one to ten.”

Suki steels. Then grins. Looks at Zuko, steels again. “A lady doesn’t tell,” she says sarcastically.

Toph nods. “And what about you two?” she says, looking towards Haru and Jet. “I wonder how much these girls enjoy it with you.”

“Oh, they do, trust me,” Jet says.

“Oh?”

“I can tell.”

Sokka’s heart keeps beating faster and faster, until he can’t hear anything but it pounding in his ears. He squeezes Zuko’s hand, hopes he gets the message: I’m sorry. Then he tries to tune everything out, tries to disappear, tries to make the whole situation disappear. He should never have brought them together, he should never have let his friends anywhere near Zuko, he knew they would do this, he knew it. And what can Sokka do? If he doesn’t go along with it, they’ll do it to him too. At least Zuko doesn’t have to see them at school everyday.

When Sokka tunes back in, Toph is talking about the clitoral orgasms versus vaginal orgasms, and holy fuck, Sokka wants to be dead.

“What kind do you give Suki?” Jet says.

“Stop,” Sokka mumbles.

“What, are you trying to be a gentleman because your boyfriend is here?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Suki!” Jet says, turning to her. “Does Sokka give you clitoral orgasms or vaginal orgasms?”

Suki narrows her eyes. “Neither.” Then she stands up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, and walks away.

Haru comes up to him, holds his vape up to Sokka’s mouth like a microphone. “Sokka, you just took the biggest L of 2019, how does it feel?”

Sokka rolls his eyes.

Haru moves the vape over to Zuko. “Zuko, ballerina extraordinaire, your butt-buddy just took the biggest L of 2019, how does it feel?”

“Butt-budy?” Zuko asks. “Is it 2006?”

“Alright, dude,” Haru says. “Stay in your weird little ballet school where nothing ever happens and keep being a try-hard while everyone else has fun. Don’t need you being a buzzkill here.”

Jet grabs Haru, pulls him away from Zuko and Sokka, like even he knows it’s getting to be too much.

Next to Sokka, Zuko is sitting stiff as a board, staring down at his lap.

Sokka leans into his ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know why they’re being like this.”

Zuko pulls away from Sokka, smashes into Toph as he does it, and her drink topples onto her pants. Onto the white couch. _Hey, dad._

The conversation seems to have shifted to something else, thank fuck, but Zuko doesn’t soften. Sokka tries to participate in the conversation, hoping to keep it on a less offensive track. It works, but Zuko and Toph stay quiet, just muttering to each other and ignoring everyone else.

“Sokka,” Zuko whispers eventually. “Toph and I are gonna go home, okay?”

“No, Zuko...”

But Toph is already tugging on Zuko’s wrist, they’re already standing up, already leaving. He can hear his friends laughing, saying something about oversensitive and something else about them leaving Sokka behind. Sokka watches them go for a second, then stands up, goes after them.

He catches them on the front porch.

“Wait,” he says. “I’m really sorry.”

They both turn around to face him. It’s so quiet outside, a little bit chilly. He can still hear the bass thumping from the music inside the house. Can still hear the cheering and yelling. And maybe it’s just inside his mind, but he can still hear his friends mocking Zuko, mocking Toph, mocking Suki, mocking anyone who’s just a tiny bit different from them.

Sokka wonders if he falls into that category, too, now that he’s basically dating Zuko. Even if he isn’t, he really isn’t, to them, he’s dating Zuko.

Zuko, who won’t even look at Sokka.

“I’m really sorry,” Sokka repeats.

Zuko just shrugs.

“Why did you even invite him?” Toph says. “Just to give your friends a chance to properly make fun of him?”

“No! I didn’t know they were going to be like this. They’re not normally this bad.”

“But they were tonight. And you just went along with it.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

Sokka turns to Zuko, grabs his wrist, tugs it until Zuko’s looking at him. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Zuko mumbles. “That was—I can’t believe you graded Suki’s blowjobs. That’s so demeaning.”

“Don’t worry about Suki. I don’t care about Suki, I care about you.”

“I care about Suki, she was nice to me. She was the only one there who was nice.”

“She’s not that nice,” Sokka insists. “There’s a difference between being friendly and being nice.”

“Yeah,” Zuko nods, staring up at Sokka pointedly. “I can see that now.”

“Zuko, I’m going to go back in there and beat the shit out of all of them.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Zuko asks.

Sokka sighs. “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let that go on, it’s just—it’s hard, when it’s all of them, and I’m just one person, it feels so intimidating. And they’re my only friends.”

“Well, your only friends suck.”

“Please, tell me what I can do to make this better,” Sokka begs.

“Zuko,” Toph says, her voice strong and steady. Warning.

“I’m just really tired. I just want to go to sleep. We can talk tomorrow, or something, if you’re not too embarrassed of me.”

“I’m not embarrassed—”

But Zuko and Toph are already going. They’re already stepping off his porch, down his driveway. He watches them go, even when there’s no light to see them by, even when he’s just staring into blackness. Sokka can still hear the music from inside his own house as he sees, from afar, the front door of Zuko’s house opening. The light spilling out. Zuko and Toph step into it, and the song ends as the door shuts.


	3. Chapter 3

The door clicks closed.Zuko starts to make his way towards the stairs, but Toph stops in the kitchen.She opens the cabinets, the refrigerator, the pantry.Grimaces at what she finds: protein shakes, fruits and vegetables, raw chicken.Returns to Zuko on the stairs, and they tip-toe up.

Zuko’s dad knew they were going to the party.Zuko had asked, like a good boy, and he had received permission, with a few caveats.Home by 1am.Stick with Toph.Alcohol was okay, but no drugs.And this would not be a regular thing, so don’t get any ideas.

He is seven minutes past the 1am curfew.It’s seven minutes, just seven minutes, that won’t be the end of the world, right?She won’t actually get mad at him for that, right?

He doesn’t know.So he tip-toes all the way back to his room, he and Toph together in silence.

She pulls off her clothes and puts on one of his tee-shirts, a pair of shorts.Zuko changes into matching plaid pajamas.

While he buttons his shirt, without looking up, Zuko says, “That is not the same guy that I’ve been talking to.”

Toph stays quiet, just sits on the bed cross legged and picks at a loose end of her sock.

“He’s normally so nice,” Zuko says.“He’s normally sweet.He cares about my ballet stuff, even when he doesn’t get it.And he—he normally acts like he likes me.”

“Okay,” Toph says.

“The way that he was at that party. That wasn’t him.”

Toph looks up at him.“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not defending him.I just—” He sighs, shakes his head. He isn’t defending Sokka, he’s just trying to make her understand: that’s not the whole situation.That’s not what he’s been experiencing.

Toph blinks, slowly.“I don’t think you’re stupid for liking him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then what do you think?” Zuko asks.

“I think...” She sighs, shakes her head.“Maybe he misrepresented himself to you.Or maybe... he’s misrepresenting himself to his friends.I don’t know.I... I think you deserve better.”

Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, leans against the wall.“But who’s even better?”

Toph frowns.“Zuko…”

“I’m serious.Where are these better people?” Zuko says. “I don’t see any.None that like me, anyway.”

“Idiot,” she says.“Come here, come on.”

Zuko plods over to the bed, then flops down on it.Toph scooches close to him and lifts his head onto her lap, buries her hand in his hair, scratches his scalp.

“They’re somewhere,” she says.“I don’t know where.But there’s someone out there who isn’t going to do that to you.”

“Who?” Zuko asks.“Mai?She never did that to me.Then she broke up with me.Was she better?”

Toph’s hand stills in his hair while she thinks.“I don’t think she was better.I don’t think she was... bad, but she wasn’t right for you.”

Zuko turns his face so his eye press against her thigh.He presses down into it until the pressure makes his vision go spotty and starry.“No one’s right for me,” he mumbles.“I’m too... I’m too much.”

“Too much of what?”

“Everything.”

“Too much of perfect?” Toph asks.

“Stop.”

“Too much of talented?Too much of beautiful?Too much of smart?” She asks, her voice getting higher pitched with each word, her hands moving like she’s planning something.

“Stop. This isn’t funny,” Zuko says.

“Too much of being my best friend?”And her hands move in some wild motion, and Zuko thinks she might tickle him but, she doesn’t, she—

She slaps him.In the face.

Zuko shoots up.“What the fuck?” he asks, his hand on his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Toph says, deadpan. “Sometimes I have these muscle spasms, they’re triggered by you saying dumb shit.”

Zuko grabs a pillow and hits her over the head with it.It knocks her face into the mattress, and she glares when she looks up at him.She goes for another pillow and then stops abruptly.

“No,” she says.

“What?” he asks.

“No! We are not going to reenact every fucking weird male fantasy of what girls do at sleepovers!Not with your curtains open so your, uuuuhhhh, super edgy and gritty and alternative fuckboy can look in on it.”

“But I’m not a girl,” Zuko says.

“Well, you look like one, so it’s close enough.”

Zuko rolls his eyes dramatically, flops down against the bed.Stares at his ceiling fan, the one that he never turns off, that he never lets rest.“You know,” he says, pausing.“You know, I just-- I just feel— I just feel like... Sad.”

Toph crawls up behind him, cuddles him.“Do you want to watch Center Stage?”

Zuko frowns, considering.“We watched it last Saturday night.”

“But do you want to watch it?” she asks.

“..... Yes.”

So they open the laptop, pull up the movie, crawl under the covers, and start watching.Whispering, “What did you go to a special bitch academy or something?” along with the characters, cheering when she finally says, “You’re a great dancer, but as a boyfriend, you kind of suck.”Bopping their heads along to the final dance.

By the time the movie is done, it’s three thirty in the morning.The party at Sokka’s seems to have died down.He can no longer hear a muted bass, and Sokka and his friends are congregating in his room, the same way they have after all the other parties Zuko has seen through his window.

When he sees them, he’s glad that he and Toph have turned out the lights.That they can’t see them.

Toph cuddles up to him from behind, wraps her arms around his tummy.“Fuck him,” she says.“You’re better than this.A year from now, you’ll be dancing with one of the best ballet companies in the world, and he’ll still be in that fucking house.Forget about him.”

Zuko nods.He doesn’t say: What if I’m alone there, too?

They sleep until noon.

They lie in bed silently for a little while, rolling over, still only half-conscious.Then, eventually, Zuko crawls over to Toph and rests his head atop her shoulder.From there, he can see through his window into Sokka’s room.A large lump in the bed.Someone passed out on the floor.

To think Zuko had been planning on going over there to help Sokka clean up from the party.

Toph flops her arm around Zuko’s neck, scratches his head silently.Follows his gaze out the window and stares, silently.“Should we get up?” she asks, after a few seconds.

“Mmm,” he agrees.

They pad down the stairs, and Toph whispers, “Are you hungover?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, though he doesn’t feel anything but hungry.“So hungover.”

Toph nods enthusiastically.“Me too.”

When they arrive to the kitchen, they stand stock-still, looking around.

Zuko opens his mouth, screams as loud as he can: “FOOOOOOD?”

His dad strolls into the kitchen moments later, grimacing.“Stop doing that, Zuko, it’s obnoxious and disrespectful.”Then he sets to work making the two of them scrambled eggs while Toph and Zuko sit silently at the kitchen table.She scrolls through tik tok and giggles.Zuko hesitantly opens his texts.

2:02 AM: i kno that i fucked up

2:03 AM: wish i could jjust kick everyone out and hang w u instead

3:30AM: u werent jus tabieng nice when u said we could talk omororw right

Zuko folds his arms on the table and drops his head into them.Whimpers quietly.Toph looks up at him, and he slides the phone over to her.

“Fuck him,” Toph whispers.

“Should I reply?” Zuko asks.“I did tell him we can talk today.”

Toph shakes her head.“If he tries again today, sober, then you can talk.But don’t reply to his three AM drunk texts.”

Zuko nods, stares at each text a little longer, then deletes them, one by one.

A couple minutes later, Dad sets plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of TophSignificantly more eggs than toast.“Did you two have fun at your party last night?” she asks.

Zuko and Toph stare at their plates, chewing their eggs.“Yeah,” Zuko eventually says.“It was really fun.”

“That’s good,” Dad says, beginning to clean up.“I’m glad you two got that out of your system, because you’ll need to be really focused now.With prix preliminaries in just a few weeks.”

Zuko nods, doesn’t say anything.

“What variation are you doing, Toph?” Dad asks.

“Giselle, Act One.”

“That’s a good choice.Not like Zuko’s…”

Zuko whips his head around to look at him, lips parted.“What?”

“We both know the prince variation is a little ambitious, considering your technique.”

Zuko stares.His dad had encouraged him to choose that variation.

“I saw Zuko rehearse yesterday,” Toph says, mouth full of eggs.“He looks good.”

Toph stays for a while longer. They watch TV together, run their variations for one another and give each other critiques.Toph keeps Zuko busy.Keeps his hands away from his silent phone and his eyes away from the window in his bedroom.

Zuko doesn’t understand.Sokka seemed so sorry last night.And even while everything was happening, Sokka was silent, sure, useless, of course, but—his whole body was tense, and he looked as if he was so overwhelmed he could have cried.And standing on his porch, his arms twitching like he wanted to hug Zuko, he wouldn’t stop apologizing, but Zuko couldn’t hear it, not then.

Now Zuko just wishes he had stayed and let Sokka talk.At least then he would get his apology.

Zuko thought he was being nice by letting Sokka have a chance to talk to him today, after everything that happened.But now that Sokka isn’t taking it, he just feels stupid.

Eventually, Toph has to go home.As soon as she leaves, Dad comes up to him and says, “She’ll be competition for you, in a couple weeks.”

Zuko stares at him.“Boys and girls are in different categories.”

“Technically.But they won’t want to take two kids from the same school.”

Zuko swallows.He hadn’t thought of that.

“So you need to be really focused, okay?You can’t let her be better than you.”

Zuko thinks about Toph, everything that she has that Zuko lacks.She’s far more flexible than he is, and sure, he has good feet, but her’s?Holy shit.Their technique is about equal, but Toph approaches each movement, each character, in a way that Zuko can’t figure out how to emulate.Their steps are the same, the muscles are the same, and everyone says that Zuko is beautiful, but it’s always qualified: for his age.He dances like a student; she dances like she’s already a professional.

Zuko knows that this is the difference, but he can’t place his finger on where in the movement it lies.Where in the body.What it even is.So how can he possibly seize it?

“But she is better than me,” Zuko mumbles, his eyes unfocused.How is she better than him?He works his ass off constantly.Toph’s a hard worker, sure, but not like he is.Zuko never lets himself waiver, barely lets himself even think about anything ballet.Toph doesn’t do that.So why does she get to be better than him?Why does anyone?

“You’ll have to be better,” Dad says.“There’s no other option.”

“Okay,” Zuko agrees.Then he goes upstairs and does push ups until his arms feel numb and so heavy at his sides that they might fall off.

It isn’t until after Zuko has eaten dinner and showered that he hears from Sokka.Well, he doesn’t hear him, necessarily. He sees him, standing by his window, arms stiff at his sides, staring into Zuko’s room.

Zuko turns away.Sokka’s really going to wait until it’s nine at night to talk to him?Zuko’s going to sleep in a fucking hour, this is no time for an emotional moment--

There’s a thud at the window.Zuko heads over, peers down to see what it is.

He opens the window.“Did you throw a candle at my window?”

Sokka shrugs.“I needed to get your attention.”

“That could have broken the window!”

“I didn’t throw it that hard,” Sokka says, rolling his eyes.

Zuko stares.

“Zuko, I’m really sorry about last night,” Sokka says, climbing over the windowsill to sit down.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“You said we could talk today!”

“Yeah, today.Not tonight.I spent all day waiting to hear from you, and nothing.What, you were too busy getting high with your asshole friends all day to remember that you wanted to apologize to me?” Zuko spits.

“No!I was busy yelling at them for being shitty to you! And busy cleaning up--” He breaks off, sighs, shakes his head.“Someone took a shit on my dad’s computer.”

Zuko blinks.“Is that a euphemism for something?”

“No.Someone literally took a shit on my dad’s computer.”

Zuko glares. “You know, it wasn’t me who took that shit, but I wish it had been.”

Sokka stares at him for a long moment, blank-faced.Until his lips curl down, then up, then he squeezes them together, lets out a sharp exhale, and another, and another and—

Holy fucking shit, he’s laughing.

“Stop it!”

“It was a good joke!” Sokka says.

“It wasn’t a joke!” Zuko insists.“I do wish I had pooped on your dad’s computer!”But he can feel the giggles escape his lips, too, and it’s not worth it, he just gives in.He laughs.And after he’s done, and they’re both sobered, he says, “This doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” Sokka says.“But can you just sit down?”

Zuko sighs, flops down onto his bean bag.“You know, Prix preliminaries are in two weeks.I really need to be focused, I can’t—”

“I won’t be long,” Sokka says.

Zuko sets his jaw.

Sokka sighs.“I’m sorry.I really am.I don’t know what else I can say, what I’m supposed to do, but... I’m sorry.”

“Did you apologize to Suki?”

Sokka nods.“She says she’s done with me anyway, though.Which is... probably for the best.Because, because...” Sokka looks at Zuko pointedly, then shrugs.

“Did you talk to your friends?” Zuko asks.

“Yeah.”Sokka grabs his phone out of his pocket, opens something on it, reaches out to show Zuko.It’s too far away for Zuko to see, unless he crawled to sit on his windowsill too, which he won’t do.So Sokka sends Zuko a screenshot of the text messages.

It’s a group chat with Sokka, Nick, and Tyler.

Sokka: I don’t want you guys talking to Zuko like that again.That was fucked up and you guys ruined the whole night.

Jet: lol. We were just joking

Sokka: I don’t care. It wasn’t funny.

Haru: so we’re supposed to pretend to like him?He sucks

There’s a fifteen minute gap in the conversation, then Sokka replies.

Sokka: You don’t have to like him but don’t say stuff like that to him.

Jet: it was just jokes its not our fault hes oversensitive

Jet: hes not socialized lmao

Sokka: Just don’t say stuff like that to him.

Haru: Sokka is impeding on my first amendment rights

Jet: LMAO

Jet: look if u dont want us talking to him like that then dont bring him around anymore lol.Pretty simple

There’s nothing after that.

Zuko looks up.“That’s it?”

Sokka swallows visibly.“It’s the best I can do.It’s impossible to get them to—to apologize, or to take anything seriously.But I told them I wasn’t okay with what happened.”

Zuko stares, feeling heat from his head sink into his throat.His eyes feel funny.

“It’s just—They can be overwhelming, sometimes.They’re so loud, and they’re so… passionate about their opinions.And I know I should have said something last night, but—it’s hard, you know?”

“No,” Zuko says.“I don’t know.Why don’t you just make friends with people who aren’t assholes?”

Sokka shrugs, looks away.“It’s not like I have people banging on my door wanting to be friends.”

“A lot of people came to your party.”

Sokka looks at him sharply.“That doesn’t mean they like me.You don’t go to school, you don’t get it, okay?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of things I don’t get, apparently.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.It’s just.. It’s hard, okay?When you’re there everyday, and everyone is...” Sokka shakes his head.“They’re my friends.They like me, and they accept me, and they don’t expect things from me.They’re chill.They don’t care about things.”

“I care about things.Caring about things isn’t bad.”

“I’m not saying it is, it’s just that that’s the way they are.The way I am, most of the time.I don’t care about like, my grades, or my future, or whatever, I think it’s all dumb.It’s so dumb that we all have to like, be these perfect little high school robots and make our mommies and daddies proud and raise our hands when he want to go to the bathroom, and go to a good college and get a boring job and then die.And then our kids will do the exact same fucking thing.It’s stupid.We should all just do what we want to do.”

Zuko stares. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying, everyone in my high school is like, _Oh my god, will my perfect SAT score get me into Harvard?_ And they don’t care that I’m not like that.They like that I don’t like that.So, you know.”Sokka shakes his head and sighs.“Never mind.That’s off-topic, this isn’t what I wanted to say.Look.The point is, I won’t let them near you again.They won’t have the chance to say shit like that to you ever again.”

Zuko shrugs, unsatisfied.

“What do you want me to say, Zuko?I’ll say whatever you want.I’ll do whatever you want.I just want this to be okay again.But I don’t know what else to do.”

_Stand up for me, for real.Act like you really give a shit.Make plans with me to go on a fucking date, or something, instead of just waiting for me to be at my window at a convenient time._

But Zuko doesn’t want to say any of that—he shouldn’t have to say it.Sokka should be able to figure that out for himself.

And who is he kidding? Why should Sokka have to stand up for him for real?Zuko isn’t his boyfriend.They’ve never even kissed.Sokka doesn’t owe Zuko that.

Sokka doesn’t owe Zuko anything, maybe.Zuko doesn’t know.He doesn’t know anything about Sokka at all, other than that he doesn’t want to go to college, and that his dad is never home, and he doesn’t do any sports or clubs.He knows far more about what Sokka isn’t than what he is.

“Say something, Zuko.Please.”

Zuko picks at his nails, swallows.Bites the inside of his lips. Crows are cawing outside.A car drives past.“It’s just.Confusing.Because there’s the version of you that I’ve been talking to every night.And then there was last night.And I don’t know... which version is real.”

Zuko peeks up at Sokka.He’s nodding, staring at his knees, saying nothing.Zuko waits, but he still doesn’t speak.

“Do you know which version is real?” Zuko asks.

“No,” he whispers.

“Well,” Zuko says.“Then decide.”

***

The weeks until the Prix preliminaries pass more quickly than Zuko would want them to.Each day goes slow, as his muscles burn and his joints ache from forcing himself to train twice, three times as hard.To run his variation over, and over, and over again, until he’s far past exhaustion and Iroh sends him home.But the weeks themselves pass so quickly, and Zuko just wants a little more time to perfect everything.

In the next studio over, Toph is doing the same thing, only she’s being coached by their other teacher, Kyoshi.They walk out at the same time, sweaty and short of breath.Toph always smiles at him, asks him how everything is going, reminding him to foam-roll when he gets home.

Does she not realize they’re each other’s competition, now?

It’s not that Zuko won’t be nice to her.They’re friends.But he’s not going to be giving her any advice.

It’s frustrating that Toph is staying just as late as him rehearsing.He’s trying to work harder than her, but she just won’t stop training, either.

Zuko barely speaks to Sokka.He’s too busy.He knows that Sokka wants to make everything up to him, and it’s not that Zuko doesn’t want to give him the chance, but...

He can’t afford any distractions right now.

They talk briefly, a few times, but Zuko mostly just smiles and nods at Sokka through their window before flopping into bed and passing out.They send memes.

The Prix de Lausanne preliminaries take place in multiple locations over the course of a month and a half, as the judges carefully comb through each country for the most talented dancers.The preliminary for Zuko and Toph’s region is three days long.There are a few hundred kids there, and it’s highly possible that none of them will make it to the real competition in Lausanne.Only ten or eleven kids from all of America will be chosen to compete among eighty dancers from around the world, trying to make it to the final round, which will only take twenty to thirty people.And from there, between six and eight dancers will be prize winners, receiving apprenticeships from any ballet company they want.

Sometimes, kids who aren’t prize winners still get offers from one or two companies, so maybe they end up being fine.But they don’t have the “Prix de Lausanne Prize Winner” title under their belt as they start their career.They’re not internationally recognized as one of the best young dancers in the world.And Zuko wants to be recognized.

The first day consists of a standard technique class.They’re split up into multiple groups, each group single-sex, and each group takes class separately, one after the other, while the judges stare them down and take notes.

Zuko’s dad, Toph’s mom, along with Iroh and Kyoshi come along, giving advice.

There’s a lot of waiting around in the lobby while the other groups go.Zuko is in the fourth group, which gives him plenty of time to become so nervous he feels like he might throw up.He sips water, trying as hard as he can to stay hydrated, then becomes nervous that he’ll have to pee during the class.So he goes to the bathroom maybe 12 times within thirty minutes, just in case.He pins and repins his number to his clothes.412.412.412.

And then it’s his turn.Dad, who’s been sitting next to him while he waits, squeezes his arm before he goes, but says nothing.

The nerves don’t fade, but he’s always danced better nervous.He focuses on every inch of his body, and every inch of it obeys him, even his eyeballs, even his mouth.Barre isn’t too difficult, and it warms them up well.Center isn’t too bad, either.The exercises are complex, but Zuko has never struggled to pick up choreography quickly.

During waltz, he stumbles at the end of his turn, and his heart flies up into his throat.He eyes the judges without turning his head so as to not break the line.They’re writing something down, their faces unreadable as always.

_Don’t let that rattle you_ , Zuko tells himself, commanding his heart to settle back into place.

But during jumps, normally the part of class Zuko feels most confident in, he can’t seem to settle down.He doesn’t know why.He knows this is what he’s good at.

But what if it’s not, today?What if he stumbles on the jumps, what if he fucks up the combination, what if he gets ahead of the music?Then what?This is the thing.It’s what sets him apart.He can’t fuck this up.

As Zuko stands in b-plus, just a few counts until it’s his turn to leap, his heart is beating so fast he thinks he might pass out.

But as soon as he steps into the tombée pas de bourrée, as soon as he presses through his back foot for his first saut-de-chat, he knows it’s fine.He knows that he can trust his body.His brain may be all over the place, but muscle memory?That never fails.

The jumps are clean, high, and strong.They’re fine, he tells himself as he walks out of the studio at the end of class. You’re fine.

There are three more groups until the day is over and they announce cuts.That’s six more hours.Toph finds him during that time, after she’s taken class, asks him how it went.His throat feels heavy and full, so he just smiles.Toph nods, toying with the number pinned to her leotard.553.

They sit next to each other, staring at the wall in silence until the last class is complete.

About forty-five minutes later, a woman comes out with a clipboard and a pen.

“Thank you, everyone, for your hard work today,” she says.“We’re so happy to have such a wonderful turnout, and it was incredible to see so many talented young dancers.You all made it very hard for us to make cuts, we wish we could keep all of you.”

Uneasy, half-hearted chuckles erupt from around the room.

“To those of you who are cut, just know that doesn’t mean that you aren’t a talented dancer.It just means that you may not be ready yet for the Prix or—”

“Oh my god, get on with it,” Toph whispers into Zuko’s ear.

“Now, if we call your number, that means that you will continue onto the next round tomorrow.We’ll start with girls.”

Toph grabs Zuko’s hand and squeezes it.Zuko squeezes back.

The woman lists of numbers.“...508, 509, 517, 541, 553...”

And the whole world goes quiet, because that’s Toph.She looks at Zuko, beaming.Zuko smiles back, his stomach dropping.Because she got through, then that means...

And then it’s time for the boys.Zuko squeezes Toph’s hand harder than anything, clenches his eyes shut, bites his cheeks.Holds his breath.412, he thinks, hard, as she speaks, trying to will that number onto her sheet.

“... 374, 375, 391, 403, 412...”

Zuko exhales, letting his head fall back against the back of his chair.Next to him, Toph is grinning madly, pulling him into an embrace, but Zuko can barely move for his relief.

He looks up at everyone.They’re smiling, but more of a satisfied smile than a genuinely happy one.And Zuko realizes: they expected this.He hasn’t accomplished anything yet.

“Alright,” Iroh says.“I want you both to go home, stretch and roll out, relax, and sleep, okay?You both need to be rested and ready to go tomorrow.I know it’s a Friday, but... No parties, no sleepovers, okay?”

“Party at my house, everyone can sleep over,” Toph says, dropping her voice an octave.

In the car ride home, Dad says to Zuko, “Just two more days, now.You just have to get through two more days.”

“Two more days,” Zuko echoes.

At home, Dad forces Zuko to stretch and roll out down in the living room, so he can be sure that he does it.As if he would ever skip that on a night like this.

Dad doesn’t seem to understand: he doesn’t need to tell Zuko to do things.He’ll do it on his own.It sometimes feels as if he has no confidence in him whatsoever.Zuko does everything Dad wants, all the time, but it’s still not enough for him to trust him.It’s not enough to prove to him that Zuko’s not... he’s not someone like Sokka.He does the things that he’s supposed to do.But it’s as if each good thing he does is entirely separate from himself, has no impact on who he actually is.

The second day of the Prix preliminaries are similar to the first, except the group sizes are smaller so the judges can look at them more closely.Zuko wishes he could skip all these classes and just go ahead to the part where they perform their variations for the judges.Zuko has practiced that variation for months, he has it.But some strange, intricate petit-allegro combination from a teacher he’s never had before, who uses Bournonville port-de-bras when Zuko’s always learned French style?Zuko’s heart beats so loud in his ears that he can barely even hear the music, that he has to watch the other boys in the mirror to make sure he moves at the right tempo.

The class is three hours long today, instead of an hour and a half, so that each student can be observed more closely.So that there’s more time to make mistakes.Every time someone so much as wobbles at the end of a pirouette, the judges right something down.

Zuko wonders, after that, if their judging method is really about finding the best dancers to keep, or just finding whoever makes a mistake first so that they can get rid of them.The latter would certainly be easier on the judges, with all the talented dancers in the room.Performance, presence... it all counts.But in a class setting, it’s more about the technique.

So Zuko decides: Be perfect today, perform tomorrow.

At the end of the day, Zuko and Toph sit on the floor of the lobby together in the same manic stillness as yesterday.The same woman comes out with the same clipboard.Gives the same mealy-mouthed speech about how everyone is wonderful, and it’s not that some dancers are better but just a closer fit to what Prix de Laussane wants.

She announces that they’ll only be keeping 24 people today, twelve boys and twelve girls, and Zuko swallows hard, his hands starting to sweat.There are still two-hundred kids left, this is a huge cut.It makes sense, when taking into account that only ten kids from all of America will actually go to Lausanne, but Zuko hadn’t anticipated this.Maybe sacrificing performative flourishes to focus on technique wasn’t the right choice.

Toph comes up behind Zuko and wraps her arms around his, her legs around his hips so they fit to lay on his his thighs.She squeezes, hard.“It’ll be you,” she says.“It might not be me, but it’ll be you.”

Zuko wants to reply, but the woman is already speaking.

“Number 18, 106, 192, 207, 273, 299, 358, 367, 391, 412...”

Zuko exhales.Iroh ruffles his hair.Toph squeezes him again.

He made it through another day.Just one more, now.Just one more.

When the woman starts reading the list of girls, Toph drops her face into Zuko’s shoulder.

“I’m cut,” she moans.“I was not good today.”

“You’re always good,” he says, and grabs her hand.

The woman lists the numbers, “19, 115, 153, 211, 339, 407, 498, 517, 553...”

Zuko rocks back onto Toph, squishing her onto the floor.“ _I was NOT good toda_ y,” he mocks.

“I wasn’t!I don’t know why they didn’t cut me!”

After the numbers are read, the woman says all the remaining dancers can use the stage for a few hours to rehearse their variations.To get used to that space, to feel that floor.They each get fifteen minutes.

Zuko runs it once, Iroh gives him a few corrections, but his biggest one is to relax.Zuko tries, and runs it again, and his time is up.

“Was that better?” he asks Iroh.

Iroh nods, but Zuko gets the feeling he’s just trying not to stress him out.

Zuko heads home, stretches, rolls out, eats, goes to bed early enough to get ten hours of sleep.Probably only gets around four or five.

The third day functions differently than the others.The twenty-five remaining kids have a warm-up class, all together, that they aren’t judged on.Then, they all go backstage to put on their costumes and do their hair and makeup, and go onstage one by one to be judged.

Zuko gets dressed into his costume.White tights, a white and gold costume jacket, white ballet shoes.He puts on leg warmers over it to keep warm, then stretches in the hallway with Toph, in her Giselle costume—a little peasant, villager dress that laces up in the front and falls past her knees.Zuko’s third to perform.He heads into the wings, and Toph follows to watch him from there.

With one minute left to go on, Zuko stands in the wings and jumps up and down, over and over, just trying to get his feet and legs warm.With thirty seconds left, he lets Iroh pull him close, say, “Stay calm. Focus. Trust your technique.”With twenty seconds left, they hug.With ten seconds left, Zuko stands just inches from the stage, closes his eyes, breathes.With five seconds left, he smiles.With two seconds left, he opens his eyes.Stares at his mark, and enters.

And then the variation is over, and Zuko is bowing onstage, breathless and smiling and with no memory of what just happened.That’s normally a good sign; if he had fucked up, he would remember it.

Iroh yanks him into a hug the moment he’s offstage.“Beautiful,” he says.“Beautiful.”

Zuko smiles, turns to Toph, who’s bouncing and grabbing at him and then nearly tackling him with a hug.“That’s the best you’ve done it,” she says.

Zuko grins, buries his face in her neck, and she ruffles his hair.

His dad, who was watching from the audience, meets him at the entrance to the backstage area.

“How was it?” he asks.

“You can’t tell?” Dad asks, laughing.

Zuko swallows.“I don’t really remember...”

Dad smiles—a rare expression, directed at him.“It was good.No one’s told you it was good?”

“They did, but...” Zuko shrugs, sort of hoping for a hug.

“It was good.”

Zuko goes back to his dressing room, changes out of his costume and then returns to the wings to watch Toph go on.He holds her close before she goes, whispers, “You got this,” in her ear, and she nods hard.Her jaw is set, her head tilted down, as she stares at her mark on center stage.She almost looks evil, like this.Then the judges announce her, and she smiles, and she’s Toph again, she’s back.

She runs onstage, the music plays, and she begins.

Zuko’s always struck by how much she seems like herself when she’s dancing.She nails every turn, kills all those ponchés en pointe, flies into every leap but she just seems so relaxed.He can see her breathing as she moves, slow and easy.And her smile, so easy on her lips, like she’s genuinely happy.

Zuko’s never been able to pull that off, but maybe if he watches Toph enough, it’ll rub off on him.

Toph’s performance flies by, though it’s about twenty seconds longer than Zuko’s.When she runs off stage, before anyone can even hug her, she jumps around in a little circle, arms flying in the air.Then, finally, she stops, turns to Zuko, and says breathlessly, “That felt so fucking good.”

“It _was_ so fucking good,” Zuko says, hugging her.

And that’s it.The judges need not just to decide on Zuko and Toph’s region, but all of the preliminaries in America, and come up with a list of ten or eleven dancers. This region is the last one on their tour, so they Zuko and Toph shouldn’t have to wait too long for results, but they’ll need at least a week or two to deliberate.So everyone goes home.

When Zuko gets home, Sokka is waiting by the window.He waves his arms up and down, until Zuko opens his window.

“What?” Zuko asks.

“The preliminaries are done today, right?” Sokka asks.

Zuko nods.“How did you know that?”

“I... Uh.I googled it,” Sokka mumbles.“Maybe that’s weird.”

Zuko smiles.“It’s not weird.”

“Are you wearing makeup?” Sokka asks.

Zuko rubs at his cheek self-consciously.“Stage make-up.We performed our variations today.”

Sokka licks his lips. “How did it go?”

“Good,” Zuko says, nodding.“I made it through the last cut... My variation looked good, everyone said.We find out in a week or two who they’re taking to Lausanne.”

“It’ll be you,” Sokka smiles.

Zuko shakes his head.“You don’t know that.”

“I do!You’re an amazing dancer.”

“You’ve never even seen me dance!”

“I don’t have to.I just know.”

Zuko grins, looks down at his feet.“You’re just flirting.”

“Maybe,” Sokka says softly.Then, “Are you still mad at me?”

Zuko swallows.“I don’t know.A lot’s been going on.I haven’t really... I’ve been caught up with dance.”

Sokka nods slowly.“That makes sense.But do you still... Do you still want to talk to me?”

Zuko clenches his jaw.He does.But he knows he shouldn’t.

“I still want to talk to you.I really like you, Zuko,” Sokka says.Zuko peeks up at him, and he’s blushing, hard.

“I like you too,” Zuko says.“I just... It’s confusing.With how different you acted.And with everything with the Prix lately, it’s... There’s been a lot going on.I haven’t had much time to think.”

“I understand that,” Sokka whispers.“And I’ve been thinking about what you said, about... deciding which version of me is real.”

“Yeah?” Zuko asks.

“Yeah.And, I decided which version I want to be.I want to be the version that...” Sokka shakes his head, walks around in a little circle.“I want to... I was wondering if...”

“What?” Zuko asks, grinning.

“Would you—,” Sokka pulls at his the sleeves of his sweater, swallows.“I was wondering if maybe you would want to go out to dinner with me?”

Zuko smiles so hard his cheeks obstruct his vision.“Yes.I want to go out to dinner with you.”

Sokka exhales shakily.“Okay.Okay, great.”He grins. “When should we go? Friday?Saturday?”

“Saturday is good,” Zuko says, his voice a happy whisper.

“Where do you want to go?What type of food do you like?”

“Any type.I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Sokka says, smiling.

“I should take a shower,” Zuko says.

“I should do my homework,” Sokka says.

They stand there smiling at each other in silence for a little while longer.

“Okay, bye,” Zuko says, closing the window.He walks very, very calmly into his bathroom.Closes the door very, very gently.Jumps up and down.Screams.

***

Zuko and Toph are given strict instructions to spend the next couple days resting and relaxing.So they have a forty-eight hour long sleepover and spend the entire time making tik toks.It’s invigorating.

After their two (two!) days off, they return to the studio, back to work, time to start preparing for the Nutcracker.Toph says that if she’s chosen to go to Lausanne, she won’t do the Nutcracker this year, so that she’s not overwhelmed.Besides, she’s already been Sugarplum two years in a row, who cares anymore?Let someone else do it.

Zuko says he’s definitely doing the Nutcracker, especially now that Toph’s not doing it, because maybe now he’ll have a decent chance at Cavelier.

The week goes fast, and soon enough, it’s Saturday night and Toph is insisting that he needs to wear black jeans for his date, not blue ones, and especially not those blue ones, Zuko, what the fuck are you thinking?So unflattering.Black jeans, and this shirt, and you’ll thank me later.And can I put just a little bit of blush on you, just a little...?Okay, okay, okay, okay okay okay okay okay I get it.

She does, however, convince him to let her curl his eyelashes.No mascara.Just a little lift.

He stares at himself in the mirror, and he admits, he looks nice.Okay, fine, blush, but just a little!

And then the door bell is ringing, and Toph is pushing Zuko so that he almost falls down the stairs, and yeah, Sokka can see that through the window, so thanks, Toph.

Zuko opens the door, and Sokka is standing there.Right in front of him, no windows between them, no asshole friends and giant house party and loud music, just him, right there.And Zuko hugs hi, and he’s so strong, oh my god, how much milk did he drink as a child?Zuko adds it to his checklist: Drink milk.Then he’ll be strong too and will be better at overhead lifts.

“Hi,” Sokka says.

“Hi,” Zuko says.

They head to Sokka’s car, and Sokka opens Zuko’s door for him, holy fuck, and Zuko sits in it, and it’s all so romantic and--

Toph scurries out the front door like a rat and heads to her car across the driveway.

“What is Toph doing here?” Sokka asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zuko says quickly.

“What kind for food do you like?” Sokka asks.

Zuko smiles.“I like all food.”

“But you probably want to be healthy, right?Because of ballet…”

“Just pick a place, Sokka!”

Sokka drives him to an Italian restaurant, and the weather is nice enough that they can sit outside together and feel the wind against their skin.

“You look really nice,” Sokka says, peering over the top of his menu.

Zuko blushes.“You do, too,” Zuko says, looking at him.Sokka’s still in his 1995-edgy doc-martens get up, just jeans and a sweater, but his hair is freshly washed and a little wavy, and Zuko wants to touch it.

They both stare at the menu in silence for a couple minutes.“God, I don’t know...” Zuko says eventually.

“Do you just want to share a pizza?” Sokka offers.

Zuko grins.“My dad never lets me eat pizza.”

Sokka puts a show of looking around the restaurant, his head swivelling back and forth.He even peers under the table.“I don’t think he’s here,” Sokka says.

“Okay,” Zuko says.The Prix Preliminaries are over, after all, maybe he can treat himself, just a little.“Okay, pizza.”

They order, and the conversation comes easily until the pizza comes.Sokka talks about movies that he’s seen recently, TV shows that he thinks are really well-written, and oh, funny thing, someone put pepper spray in the vents at school.So that’s what Zuko’s missing out on with his homeschooling.

When Zuko takes his first bite of pizza, he nearly melts.“Mmm,” Zuko says loudly, closing his eyes and slumping against the chair.He takes another bite.“MMMMM.”

Sokka laughs.“You’re like, mid-orgasm.”

Zuko rolls his eyes.“Cut me some slack.I never eat stuff like this.”

Sokka swallows.“Can I ask you a question that could potentially be offensive?”

“I love being offended.”

“Do you ever let yourself have any fun?”

Zuko thinks.Does he?His life is, really, essentially the same day on repeat.He’s like a hamster on a wheel.Wake up at seven.School from 7:30 until noon.Dance from 1:00 until nine or ten, depending.Rinse and repeat.

It’s satisfying.And he loves it, he does.But... is it fun?

Zuko shrugs.“Sometimes Toph and I make tik toks.”

Sokka laughs.“Seriously, though.When is the last time you’ve actually just... Dedicated a day to having a good time?”

“I don’t know.When I was a kid, I guess.”

Sokka smiles.“I’m gonna get you to have fun.”

“You can’t distract me,” Zuko says.“This year is really important.I can’t—”

“Zuko—”

“I’m serious.I know what I want out of life, and I know exactly what I have to do to get there.And I know that you’re not like that, but if you can’t respect that—”

“I respect it,” Sokka says.“I just think that having one fun night every once in a while won’t make or break your dance training.”

“Well, sure, but who knows what you get up to?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Someone took a shit on your dad’s scomputer!”

“It wasn’t me who took that shit!”

“That’s not the point!You do... wild things.You drink.”

“So do you,” Sokka says.

“You do drugs.”

“Barely.”

“Barely?You smoke weed like fifty times per day.And I’m sure you’ve done other stuff, too.”

Sokka shrugs.“Coke, a couple times.That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Zuko asks.

“Okay, once I smoked crack.Once.”

“CRACK?” Zuko yells, and heads turn around the restaurant.

“Shhhh,” Sokka hisses.“Once.Like, a year ago.And honestly, you can get the same effect from drinking a million cups of coffee, so it’s not worth it.”

“I am on a date with a crackhead,” Zuko mutters to himself.

“Congratulations.”

Zuko tries to settle down.Tires to be non-judgmental.Tries to be cool.Crack is cool.It’s all cool.

“Crack is cool,” Zuko says, coolly.

Sokka bursts out laughing.

“What?” Zuko demands.

“Okay, this is not about crack, I’m not doing crack again, I don’t want you to do crack,” Sokka says.

“You just want me to take a shit on your dad’s computer.”

“No,” Sokka laughs.“Look, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.But like, don’t you think it would be nice to just... relax sometimes?Go to the movies?There’s a fair next weekend, we can do that.”

“There’s a fair?”

“Yeah, it comes every year.Everyone goes.”

“I didn’t know that,” Zuko mutters, looking away.Everyone goes?All the kids his age have been going to a fair every October, and he didn’t even know it existed?

“Look, if you want to stay being an ultra-focused ballet kid with nothing else going on... Whatever.I’d still like you.I mean, that’s what you are now, and I already like you.But I feel like you’d be happier if you relaxed every once in a while.And I like you, and I like to have fun, so maybe it would be nice to combine those two things.”

Zuko squints.“Nothing wild.”

“Nothing wild.Innocent fun.The fair.”

“Is there crack at the fair?”

“Honestly, probably, but I don’t know where to find it.”

“Well, okay.We’ll have a nice, crack-free evening at the fair,” Zuko decides.“Can I bring Toph?”

“Oh my god.”

The dinner is... nice.It’s nice to spend hours with Sokka without the knowledge that he’s up way too late looming over him.It’s nice to be somewhere with him, to have gone somewhere, instead of just both of them being by their windows, coincidentally.It’s nice when Sokka pays for the meal, when he holds his hand as they walk back to the car.

And it’s especially nice when, in the car,Zuko opens his email to see that he has been chosen as one of the ten Americans to go to Prix de Lausanne.

“Holy fuck,” Zuko whispers, staring at his phone.

“What?”

“Holy fuck.”

“What?”

“I’m going to Lausanne,” Zuko says.“They chose me, I’m one of the American contestants.I’m going to Lausanne.”

Sokka’s smile takes up his entire face.“Holy fuck.”

Zuko closes his eyes, leans his head back against the seat.His chest is warm, his neck, warm, his face, warm, his eyes stinging.He’s going to Lausanne.

“Do you know what this means?” Zuko asks.

“What?”

“This means I’m one of the ten best young dancers in America,” Zuko says.

“How does it feel?” Sokka asks.

“It feels—” Zuko exhales, his breathing uneven, his hands shaking.He can’t stop smiling.“Who else is on this list?”

He looks back at his phone, starts scrolling, wants to see what schools these kids are coming from, if he follows them on instagram, if he’s done summer intensives with any of them.In the pre-professional ballet world, the best of the best run in small circles.

His name is third: Zuko, 16 years and 9 months, New England Ballet Academy.Others on the list include Sabrina Holloway from San Francisco Ballet School, Nolan Church from Washington Ballet School, Regina Kaiser from the JKO school, Elle Smith from Master Ballet Academy, Damian Berger from School of American Ballet, Victoria Fuller from Elite Classical Training, Alvin Foster from Academy of Ballet Arts, Ariel Duke from the Harid Conservatory, and Toph Beifong from New England Ballet Academy.

“Toph’s going too!” Zuko cries.“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck.Everyone said they’d never take two kids from the same school, never, but...”

“But they made an exception because you and Toph are too good for their rules!”

Zuko laughs, bounces in his seat.“Oh my god. Oh my god.Can you stop the car?I need to get out.”

Sokka nods, pulls into the parking lot of a gas station.Zuko opens the door, jumps out.Jumps around, spins, throws his hands in the air.Screams.

And Sokka follows him out, starts jumping and screaming too.Both of them, bouncing up and down in this gas station parking lot, the cashier peering at them through the window, Sokka’s music still blasting from his car.

“Oh my god,” Zuko says, breathless, and flings himself at Sokka.Sokka catches him in a hug, and they bounce some more, hugging as they jump and laugh.Zuko can’t stop moving, can’t stop smiling.

But then the song ends, and there’s silence but for the cars rushing past them, and the two of them stop jumping, but the feeling doesn’t fade.It doesn’t fade one bit.

Zuko looks up at him, his chin against Sokka’s chest.And Sokka looks down, his hands on Zuko’s back, and he squeezes him closer.Sokka’s too tall for Zuko to kiss him down here, so Zuko goes up on relevée, bringing them closer and closer together until their lips touch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on waiting until next Saturday to update, but your comments were so sweet i couldn't resist updating early <3

Zuko is smaller than Sokka thought.

Zuko isn’t short, but when Sokka’s holding him close, he can feel how small he is.How little his bones are.How simultaneously delicate and strong he seems to be—his torso feels tiny in his Sokka’s embrace, his wrists, his fingers long and thin like a girl’s, but the tight, wire muscle coating his entire body?No, that’s not weak.Zuko’s not weak—Sokka doesn’t need to worry about breaking him.

So he squeezes him tight and kisses him hard.Because Zuko just found out he’s officially one of the best young dancers in the country, and that news calls for a kiss.A real kiss.

Zuko is the one to pull away first, but just his head.His body stays put in Sokka’s arms.He looks up, blinks at Sokka.“That was my first kiss,” he whispers.

“Really?” Sokka asks.“What about Mai?”

“We kind of kissed, but it was always, like, close-mouthed.”

Sokka smirks.“How long were you two together, again?”

“Like, two months.But—hey, no, hey, stop laughing at me!”

But Sokka can’t stop.“How do you exclusively date someone for two months and only kiss with closed mouths?”

Zuko shrugs, his cheeks turning pink as he pokes Sokka’s collarbone with his nose and makes a whining sound.“Stop making fun of me,” he mutters.

Sokka smiles, shakes his head.“She’s crazy,” he says, leaning down to touch Zuko’s forehead with his own.“If you were all mine, I’d be kissing you nonstop.”

Zuko blushes, closes his eyes.“Well, I sort of am.I mean, not that—“ He pulls away, shakes his head.“I know it’s technically our first date, but I just meant, I’m not seeing anyone else, right now.So, it’s—“

Sokka puts him out of his misery.“I get what you mean,” he says, then shuts him up with another kiss.

While Sokka drives Zuko home, Zuko’s phone starts going crazy.Everyone got the news about the Prix at the same time, apparently.Zuko keeps apologizing, but he doesn’t ignore his phone, he texts people back, even takes a short phone call with Luca, where he accepts his congratulations and then quickly transitions into making plans for preparing for the competition.

Sokka sits next to Zuko silently.He’s happy for him, he really is, but… He wishes that Zuko had gotten the news another time, not in the middle of their date.Because now, when Sokka and Zuko are supposed to be holding hands and walking into the fucking sunset, Zuko’s talking to Luca about a training schedule—one that sounds fucking insane, by the way—and discussing options for the contemporary part of the competition.

Sokka just stays quiet and grips the steering wheel hard, trying not to think about how even now, on his fucking date with Zuko, where he picked him up and held the door open and paid for dinner like a nice fucking person, like the fucking gentlemen Sokka didn’t know he was even capable of being, even after doing everything right tonight (besides the crack comment, maybe, but you can’t build a relationship on lies), Sokka is still fucking losing.Ballet is winning, and Sokka is losing.

But at the end of the night, before Zuko gets out of the car, he kisses Sokka.And before Zuko climbs into bed, he smiles sweetly at him through the window. And before he falls asleep, he texts, “i had a really nice time tonight❤️❤️❤️im excited to go to the fair w u this weekend❤️❤️❤️”

And, okay.Maybe Sokka.Maybe just a little bit, he won.

***

Two days later, Zuko opens his window at midnight and throws a flip flop at Sokka’s.

Sokka opens it.“Isn’t it past your bed time?”

“Yes, but I have something to say,” Zuko says, his voice firm. Determined.

Sokka raises his eyebrows, says nothing.

Zuko takes a deep breath and stands up straight and strong, his chin tilted slightly upward.“I really liked our date and I really like talking to you the past couple months.And I decided I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Sokka blinks.Smiles.Tries to contain his smile, but it just grows wider.Heat keeps rising from his stomach until his whole body feels like it’s being lifted off the ground and he’s floating through hot air.“Okay,” he says.

“Okay, like you’re my boyfriend now?” Zuko asks, his eyes wide, his eyebrows up.

“Yes,” Sokka says, the word half laugh, half sigh.

“So I’m your boyfriend, too?”

“Yes, Zuko, that’s generally how these things work,” Sokka says, feeling a wave of fondness as he stares at Zuko.At his boyfriend.

“Okay, good,” Zuko says, deathly serious.He turns to his left.His right.Back to Sokka.“Okay, I need to go to sleep now.”

At school the next day, Sokka decides to tell Jet.It’s first period, Eight AM, and their math teacher is handing out a test that Sokka hasn’t studied for.It’s too early in the morning for confessions or talking about romance, but Sokka has to get it off his chest.

“Zuko is my boyfriend,” he whispers, while they’re supposed to be working on these tests.

Jet grimaces.“Seriously?”

“Don’t be weird about it,” Sokka pleads.He isn’t sure if he can handle his friends mocking him for the duration of his relationship with Zuko.He isn’t sure what he’ll choose if it comes to that.

(He knows what he wants to choose.He wants to choose Zuko, he wants to be strong and endure being teased and stay with Zuko.

He wishes he were more like Zuko.Zuko decides what he wants, and is willing to endure everything to get it.Sokka can’t do that.He doesn’t have the same willpower, the same assuredness.)

“It’s kind of hard not to be weird about it when the situation itself is weird,” Jet says.

“No, it’s not.I like him, so he’s my boyfriend now.What’s weird about that?”

“When have you ever liked someone before?And I mean a person, not a body.”

Sokka nearly sighs audibly in relief.If it’s just about this being out of the ordinary for Sokka, if it’s not about Zuko necessarily, then maybe this won’t be that bad.Maybe Jet and Haru can get used to the idea, with time.

He shrugs.“I haven’t,” he admits.“But… So what?Maybe it’s not that I… don’t like people, but just that I hadn’t met him yet.”

Jet gags dramatically.

“Okay, okay, yeah, that was cheesy,” Sokka concedes, embarrassment starting to well up inside him.“But I like him, for whatever reason, okay?”

“Okay…” Jet says.“So are you, like, gay now?”

Shit.

Jet’s never outwardly said anything homophobic, not that Sokka can remember, but that doesn’t mean anything, he realizes.Just because he doesn’t openly hate gay people doesn’t mean he’ll be okay with his best friend being gay.

Why the fuck hadn’t Sokka thought of this beforehand?

He tries to play it cool, but it’s too late to back down now.“Maybe… bisexual?I don’t know.But I’ve… I’ve known I’ve liked guys for a while.”

Jet stares at him, mouth agape.“You’ve known for a while?Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sokka shrugs.“I thought you’d be weird about it.”

“Why would I be weird about it?”

“Because you’re being weird right now!” Sokka hisses.

“Yeah, because Zuko’s a fucking weirdo!” Jet cries, and heads turn in the silent classroom.Sokka looks down at the piece of scratch paper where his extra work is supposed to be.All that’s there is a doodle of a penis that Jet drew.

“Quiet,” the teacher says.“Finish your test.”

Sokka stares at his desk, not really knowing what to say, because, yeah, Zuko is fucking weird, but Sokka doesn’t like the way Jet says weird.Like it’s a bad thing.

Maybe it is a bad thing. Not bad for Zuko, and Sokka sort of likes Zuko’s weirdness, but… That doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“I’m not homophobic,” Jet says.“It’s not weird that you’re gay.It’s weird that you’re gay for Zuko.”

“Whatever,” Sokka mumbles, scratching the underside of his desk.His finger comes into contact with a piece of gum, and he quickly retracts them.“I don’t care what people think about my relationship, it’s not anybody else’s business.”

“It’s just that with him, you might as well just date a girl, you know?”

“Well, he’s not a girl,” Sokka snaps.“And he’s the person I Iike, so shut up about it.”

Jet laughs.“Chill out.Why can’t you take a joke anymore?”

Sokka shrugs.Forces a smile.A laugh.

Jet turns serious.“But, maybe let me tell Haru about the gay thing.I don’t think he’ll be as cool about it.I don’t want him to say something shitty to you, so just… Let me get him used to the idea before he sees you in person.”

“Okay,” Sokka whispers.He knows that Jet is trying to help, but all it does is make him anxious.

By three o’clock today, he could have zero friends.

After class, Sokka runs to the single-stall bathroom and locks the door.Eyes burning and heart racing, he texts Zuko: _wish you went to school. miss u during the day_

Sokka stays holed up in the bathroom for all of second period, but Zuko doesn’t reply.And the next two periods, he doesn’t reply either.

By lunch, Sokka leaves school.Doesn’t care if he’s failing his eighth period class—he can’t be here right now.

He heads to the skatepark and skates hard.All strength, no technique. Brute forces his way through every move and falls, again and again.Scrapes his hands, his knees.He thinks about texting Katara, who he’s certain won’t care that he’s into guys.Katara loves hard, loves deeply—she wouldn’t judge him.

But then he remembers that she has a swim meet.Sokka stares into the sky, feeling like everyone has something going on besides him.

At sunset, Zuko finally texts back, _miss u too_ ❤️❤️.Then, _dont wish i went to school tho from what ive heard that shit SUCKS_

Sokka laughs breathlessly. _ur right about that lol_ , he sends back, feeling pathetic for replying immediately when Zuko took hours.

But he was probably just busy, Sokka reminds himself.Away from his phone.He gets so focused on ballet, it’s not about Sokka, he would have texted back if he had the opportunity.He would have, Sokka tells himself.

_how is dance today?_ Sokka sends.

The response takes a few minutes, and when it comes in, it’s long.f _ucking exhausting.rehearsing new stuff for prix de lausanne and doing prep stuff for nutcracker.lots of pas stuff.think theyre testing me for cav but all these overhead lifts are fucking killing me. the grand pas in nutcracker is intense.my back hurts sm_

Sokka frowns, his heart clenching. _i’m sorry :(_ he sends back. _can you take a break?_

_not w/o revealing that i cant handle these lifts. and basically forfeiting any chance i have at cav._

Sokka sends back: _if it hurts shouldn’t you stop tho?_

_no lol_

_doesn’t sound smart tbh.i dont think they'd write u off just for needing a tiny break._

Zuko’s response is quick. _you're not a dancer you don’t get it._

Sokka starts typing, but another text comes in before he can finish.

_dont give advice on things u dont understand_

Sokka physically leans back from his phone, his heat rising from his chest.He feels chastised; he feels angry, tooHe was just being nice, for fuck’s sake.

_just dont want u to be in pain,_ Sokka sends.

But Zuko doesn’t reply.Sokka stares at his phone for a while, waiting, then just goes home.He hops in the shower to clean the grime off his body, grimacing when the water touches his skating injuries.Then he avoids doing his reading for English by reading a different book.

Eventually, after hours of this, Zuko texts: _sorry for snapping im just really stressed out right now.so much going on and i feel like my body is so tired and my brain is all over the place_

_i understand❤️_ Sokka sends back, trying to will away his anger. _you’ll have a chance to get your mind off it and relax at the fair this weekend :)_

He hopes Zuko won’t cancel.Won’t be too busy or stressed or tired.Hopes he won’t be spending Saturday night getting high by himself and writing sad shit in the notes ap.

But Zuko texts back: _im really excited :)_

Saturday night rolls around, after a long week of tip-going around Jet and Haru, not sure what Jet’s told him.After a week of Zuko being too caught up in ballet stuff to really pay attention to Sokka. 

Why did Sokka think things might slow down after preliminaries?Of course they’d only speed up.He tries to just be happy that he gets to be around for the few seconds that Zuko gives himself to breathe.

So, Saturday night rolls around, and Zuko’s yawning in a black sweater and jeans, complaining that his entire body is sore.

“Do you want to do something else instead of going to the fair?” Sokka offers, trying to erase thoughts of them walking hand in hand, eating cotton candy.Kissing on the ferris wheel.“Wel’l be doing a lot of walking around at the fair, maybe it’d be better to just chill out.”

“No,” Zuko says.“I want to go.”

Sokka smiles.“To the fair!”

Once they park, Zuko grabs Sokka’s hand as soon as they exit the car.Looks around at all the lights.

“Wow,” he says.“I can’t believe I never knew about this.”

Sokka bumps Zuko’s shoulder with his own.“Sort of makes sense, thoughWith the wayyou treat yourself.”

Zuko stares up at him.“How do I treat myself?

“Never mind,” Sokka says, not wanting to go down this path.At the ticket booth, he swipes his mom’s credit card so they can go on as many rides they want.

They head towards the games first.Sokka really wants to win Zuko a giant bear, like in the movies, but it turns out he sucks at all the games.So he stops trying; he doesn’t really want Zuko to see yet another thing Sokka turns out to be no good at.Not when Zuko’s good at everything.

“These games are stupid, anyway,” Sokka decides.“You don’t want one of those cheesy bears anyway, do you?”

Zuko shrugs, dead on his feet.They find a bench and sit down together.

“We need to wake you up,” Sokka says.

“You know what would accomplish that?” Zuko asks.

“What?”

“Crack.”

Jesus fucking Christ.Sokka should have never told him. Fuck honesty, he’s never living this down.

“I thought we agreed on a crack-free evening,” Sokka says.

“Well, you’re on a mission to make me have fun, so I can try to make that easier on you,” Zuko says, shrugging.

Sokka smiles, kisses Zuko’s shoulder.“Let’s get cotton candy.The sugar will perk you up.”

And it does.Zuko eats it, gleeful about “empty calories,” and is then filled with enough energy to go on every ride at least five times.

“You know,” Sokka says, feeling nauseous after his millionth time around on the spinner ride, “I get the feeling you’ve never done anything in moderation.”

Zuko laughs, shakes his head.

They go on the ferris wheel, once Zuko has had enough thrill-seeking.At the top, Zuko takes a photo of the view.After a second, Sokka shoves his phone down and kisses him, hard.He’s getting his fucking ferris wheel kiss if it kills him.

Afterwards, Zuko asks Sokka to take a picture of him doing an arabesque in front of the ferris wheel for instagram.Sokka obliges.The colorful lights behind Zuko are pretty, the pose is pretty, even in jeans, and Zuko is pretty, too.

Sokka takes a couple of photos, and then hears a couple familiar voices.He looks up—Jet and Haru, a couple girls Sokka doesn’t know.

“Hey,” Jet says.“I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.”

Sokka could say the same thing about them.Don’t they normally come on Friday, not Saturday? That’s what they’ve been doing since middle school.

“Hey, what’s up,” Sokka says, trying to be casual.Of course they’re here.Of course on his second fucking date with Zuko, they’d be here.

While Sokka takes pictures of Zuko doing an arabesque.Of course it had to be at that moment.

Zuko walks closer to Sokka, staring at Jet and Haru warily.

“Hi, Zuko,” Jet says, and Sokka feels the way cats must when they arch their backs up high.

“Hi,” Zuko says, squeezing in further.

“Sokka told me you won a big dance competition,” Jet says.“That’s cool.”

Why the fuck did Sokka tell him that? What is wrong with him?

“I didn’t really win, I just qualified,” Zuko says.“Technically the competition hasn’t started yet.”

“Oh,” Jet.

Sokka’s torn between clarifying, between making Jet know how big of a deal it is to even qualify, and to just shut down this topic of conversation.Last time Jet and Zuko talked about ballet, it didn’t end well.

“Are you guys on a date?” Haru asks.

“Yes,” Zuko says, at the same time as Sokka says, “Zuko wants chicken nuggets.”

Everyone stares at each other for a moment.

“Why is this so weird?” one of the girls asks.

“Bye,” Sokka says, then tugs Zuko away from them.

“How did you know I wanted chicken nuggets?” Zuko asks as they walk away.“I love having my mind read.”

So they get nuggets and sit down at the picnic tables.

“So,” Zuko says, mouth filled with food.“That was fucking weird.”

“Yup.”

“Why is Jet being nice?”

“He occasionally does that,” Sokka says.“I don’t know.I came out to him.Maybe he’s trying to seem woke.”

Zuko grimaces.“Maybe he’s just being nice as a joke, and is making fun of us behind our backs.”

They try to keep having fun after that, but Sokka’s too distracted by the prospect of Jet and Haru mocking him with some nameless girls to focus, and Zuko, belly full of salt and bread and chicken, is starting to fade.

They head home.Sokka kisses Zuko goodnight, then checks his phone.

New message in the group chat.

Haru: _Sokka is a ballet photographer now lmao_

He lets out a slow, shaky exhales.Texts back, just took Zuko home. anyone wanna go out tonight?

They find a house party.Sokka goes shot for shot with Jet and Haru, spends the night shit-talking some girl in history.He doesn’t bring up Zuko, but laughs along when Haru does.When he makes fun of him.By the end of the night, he thinks they’ve forgiven him.

***

Zuko comes over on Sunday.He lies on Sokka’s floor, stretching, while Sokka sits on his bed, writing in his journal and peering at Zuko.

Zuko’s body is hard to look away from, but easy to write about.

After a while, Zuko asks, “What are you writing?”

“Nothing,” Sokka says, because he doesn’t know what else to call it.Doesn’t know what the name is of the strange, formless words he writes in his journal, in his phone.When he’s sad, when he’s scared.Or now, when he’s happy.When he’s admiring something.But that’s a new development.

“It’s something,” Zuko says, pulling his ankle up to his ear, and Jesus Christ—

(Sokka had never thought of the human body as art, before.But that’s ballet isn’t it?Built on the premise that there is art within the body.Sokka doesn’t know if he would have bought into that concept a few months ago, but now, watching Zuko, he believes it.

Because Zuko is filled to the brim with art.Because Sokka can see it.)

“It’s just—” Sokka shakes his head.“I don’t know.Thoughts.You never write down your thoughts?”

“I probably would if I had any,” Zuko says, smirking.

Sokka grins.“You just dance yours.”

Zuko shakes his head slowly, stares at the ceiling.Sokka feels like he can see into his brain.“I don’t think I do.”

“No?” Sokka asks.

“I think I dance someone else’s thoughts.”

Sokka frowns.“Well, dance yours then.”

Zuko smiles softly.“I don’t know if I have any worth dancing.”

Sokka feels a twinge in his chest.“Don’t do that,” He says.“Not you.”

“What?” Zuko asks.

“Come here.” Sokka closes his notebook, pats the bed next to him.

Zuko half-walks, half-skips over, then plops down, smiling widely at Sokka.All his teeth out.His cheeks bright and pink.

Sokka brings his hands to Zuko’s waist, and Zuko starts squealing before Sokka even starts tickling.He tickles for a while, letting Zuko fill the room with laughter.

Eventually, he pulls away, giving Zuko a second to breathe.They both flop against the bed, smiling at each other.

“What are you writing about?” Zuko asks softly, his happiness seeping into his voice.He’s so rarely relaxed like this.He so rarely allows himself to be human.He’s so beautiful like this. And Sokka gets to see it.He gets to be a part of it.

“You,” Sokka whispers, watching as Zuko smiles even bigger.“All you.”

***

In school on Monday, Sokka gets his math test back.He takes a deep breath, then looks down at the grade.

43%.

Sokka flips the paper over before Jet can see.

At home, he flips through it.He didn’t put much effort into this test—didn’t study and whispered with Jet while he was taking it—but a 43?

He thought he understood it when his teacher went through the material in class.He had done okay on the homework, too.

At home, he flips through the test.The comments his teacher had written down only confuse him more.

Sokka looks up to find Zuko, sweaty and drooping from ballet, entering his bedroom.He waves.

Sokka opens his window.

Zuko looks towards his bathroom, to Sokka.Back to the bathroom, back to Sokka.He opens his window.“I can’t talk long.”

“It’s okay,” Sokka says.“I just need—I did really badly on a math test.”

Zuko stares.“Okay?”

Sokka stares back.That wasn’t really the reaction he was hoping for, but maybe Zuko couldn’t tell that this was upsetting?Zuko tended not to be very...attuned to other people’s feelings.Caught up in his own ballet world.

“Don’t you always do bad in school?” he asks.“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t!I just—I need to graduate, you know?”

“Sure.”

“And I failed this test.And I thought I’d do okay on it.”

“So just try harder on the next test.”Zuko shrugs.“I don’t know what to tell you.”

Sokka sighs, frustration burning up inside him.“I just—the corrections she wrote don’t even make any sense.I don’t know what to do.”

“Ask her?”

“What?”

“Like, can’t you go to her during lunch or study hall and ask her for help?I did that with my science teacher in middle school.”

Sokka frowns.“I guess.”

“Do that,” Zuko says.“That’ll help.”

Sokka stares at the window pane.It doesn’t really seem like him.It seems like it’ll be embarrassing, admitting he needs help.

And if he goes, and he tries his best, and he still fucks up, then what excuse will he have?He’ll just be dumb.

But maybe Zuko’s right.He knows how to accomplish things, he does it all the time.

“It’ll help,” Zuko repeats.“Look, I gotta go.I’m going in an hour early for more rehearsals tomorrow.Night.”

Before Sokka can even respond, Zuko’s closing the window.

Sokka sighs, watches as Zuko disappears.

But he follows Zuko’s advice.Because Zuko works hard, he always tries, and maybe there’s something to that.It works for him.

So after class, he approaches his teacher.

“Um, can I come talk to you sometime today about my test? I don’t really understand what I did wrong.”

“When’s your study hall?”

“Fourth period.”

“Come in then.”

So when fourth period begins, Sokka takes out his test, looks it over.Circles the questions he’s most confused about, prepares exactly how he will ask his questions.He doesn’t want to seem stupid.

It takes about ten minutes; then he starts making his way over to his math teacher’s classroom.He pauses next to the door, out of view of the teacher, and takes a deep breath.There’s no one in the hallway, no one who can see him doing this.Jet and Haru don’t know, nobody knows, it’ll be fine.

But he can hear voices in the classroom—two teachers.

He tries to work up the nerve to interrupt them—she told him to come in at this time, so it’s okay, right?

“Do you want to watch Netflix in the teacher’s lounge?” one asks.

“I have a student who said he’d come in this period for help on a test,” his teacher said. “But we’re already fifteen minutes in, maybe he’s not coming.”

“What kid?” the other teacher asks.

“Sokka.”

“Katara’s older brother?”

“Yup.”

“Don’t worry about him.There’s no way he’s coming, he’s a lost cause.”

His teacher laughs.“Yeah, he sort of is.Crazy how two kids from the same family can be so different.”

Sokka feels his stomach turn hard, his chest turn to ice, his head turn to fire.He looks around the hallway—no one there, thank God—and he turns and leaves.Stomps through the hallway, keeping his jaw clenched and his lips turned down to keep from frowning.

What was he thinking?He wasn’t the kind of kid who asked his teachers for help.Who went through what he did wrong so he could do better on the next test.

Why would a teacher want to do that with him?It would be a complete waste of time.It’s not like he’d ever do well on the next test.It’s not like he’s a smart kid who’s just struggling with this one thing.He bites his bottom lip.A lost cause.

He wants to punch something, but that was stupid.What right did he have to be angry?They were just stating the facts.

He is a lost cause.If there was ever any hope for him, someone would have realized it a long time ago.

He’s never taking advice from Zuko again.What does he know, anyway?He’s good at things.Of course it makes sense for him to work hard—he’s trying to make the most of his natural talent, of his potential.But Sokka doesn’t have any potential to reach.Zuko doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know anything.He’s just caught up in his ballet world, with no knowledge of what real life is like.With no concept of what it’s like to not be a prodigy.

He leaves school.No use in being there, anyway.There’s nothing inside him worth nurturing.

***

That night, Sokka and Zuko talk by the window.Zuko is beaming about something, his smile wide and shiny, but Sokka doesn’t have it in him to ask why he’s so happy.To find out what else is going great in Zuko’s perfect life.

“Did you talk to your teacher?”

Sokka nods.

“Did it help?”

“She’s an idiot,” Sokka says.“Complete waste of time.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, his face falling.“Sorry, I thought.Maybe it would help, I don’t know.”

Sokka shrugs.“It doesn’t matter.It’s not like I’ll ever actually use calculus in real life.”

Zuko nods.“That’s probably true.Anyway, I have good news.”

Sokka stares at Zuko, and he just feels so tired.So tired of being mediocre.So tired of standing next to someone as shiny and golden and Zuko.So tired of having to watch other people accomplish things while he just sits still.

He forces a smile.“What?”

“Nutcracker casting came out,” Zuko says.“And I’m Cavelier!”

Of course he fucking is.Of course he got what he wants—when doesn’t he? Perfect Zuko, with his perfect ballet technique, with his perfect turnout that everyone on instagram goes crazy for.

Zuko got Cavelier, Zuko got _One of The Best Young Dancers in the US_ , and Sokka got _Lost Cause._

“Congratulations!” Sokka says.

“Thanks,” Zuko says.“I’m really excited.I mean, it’ll be a lot of hard work, and it’ll probably be hard to balance with Prix rehearsals, but.That doesn’t matter.My dad’s been pushing for this for months, she’s so happy.”

“You can handle it,” Sokka grits out.When was the last time his dad has been happy about something he’s done?

“I’ll be really busy,” Zuko says, his smile faltering.He shakes his head.“But it’ll be worth it.”

And isn’t that exactly what Sokka needs, for Zuko to be even more busy.

“Definitely,” Sokka agrees.

“The show starts right after Thanksgiving.You’ll come see it, right?”

“Of course.You’re the lead, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m so happy everything is working out,” Zuko sighs.“I worked so hard all through auditions.And with the Prix, too.It’s like, everything is finally happening.Everything is paying off.And I feel like my life is on the right track, you know?I’m really happy.If I win the Prix, I think I’ll choose ABT—they’re a company in New York, my dad danced for them when she was younger, he thinks it would be a great place for me.And it’s not too far, either, and it’s the best company in the country, so—”

“I need to go,” Sokka blurts out.“I’m—I have plans.I’m late.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so, congrats, and, bye.”Sokka shuts his window and practically runs downstairs.He doesn’t know where to go, so he just goes to the skatepark.

He skates through darkness, then he stares into it.

***

Sokka floats through the week, never feeling like he’s ever truly anywhere but his own head.He avoids Zuko, which is pretty easy, considering Zuko is now somehow even busier than he was before.

But homecoming is coming up in a few weeks, and he doesn’t even have a real reason to be mad at Zuko, so what the fuck is he even doing?

He invites Zuko out to dinner to ask him.Zuko spends most of the dinner talking at Sokka, or just to himself, Sokka can’t tell.About things he needs to fix for Prix variation, about perfecting his acting during the Nutcracker Pas de Deux.About how he needs to put his weight over his big toe when he’s on relevée, not his pinky toe, about how he needs to make sure he’s overcrossing his fifths when he lands his jumps, but that he needs to stop overcrossing his rond-de-jambes.About how every joint in his body is hypermobile, about how he still doesn’t have the strength he needs to control his extreme flexibility, about how—

Sokka zones out.

Zuko seems simultaneously excited and seconds away from crying, and Sokka doesn’t know how to handle him when he’s like this. Frankly, Sokka doesn’t really give a shit about ballet right now.

“Zuko,” Sokka says.“Can you just—can you chill, for a second?I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

Sokka takes a deep breath, tries to remind himself that he doesn’t need to be nervous.Zuko is his boyfriend, of course he’ll be his date to homecoming.There’s no reason for him to be rejected.

“Would you like to be my date to homecoming?”

Zuko smiles.“Homecoming?Like a dance?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never been to a homecoming before.”

“Well, this can be your first.”

Zuko bounces in his seat.“Do we wear suits?”

Sokka nods.

“Oh my god.Toph will love this.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“Yes!” Zuko says.“When is it?”

“Two weeks from now.Friday, the 21st.”

Zuko’s smile disappears.“I can’t.”

Sokka blinks.“What?”

“That’s a Friday, I always have rehearsals Friday nights.”

“Well, can’t you—” Sokka swallows, looks around the restaurant.“This is a special thing, Zuko.It’s homecoming.It’s a special occasion.”

Zuko shrugs.“Not to me.I don’t even go to school.”

Sokka grimaces.“Well, it is to me.”

Zuko stares.Sokka exhales sharply, his eyes darting all over the room, his knee bouncing. Why is Zuko so lackadaisical about this?

“These are Nutcracker rehearsals?” Sokka asks.

“No, Prix.My solo.”

Sokka chews on the inside of his cheek.If it were Nutcracker rehearsals, those couldn’t be moved.That’s a group thing, everyone working together to put on a ballet, Sokka understands that.He’s not unreasonable.But if it’s just for Zuko’s solos, can’t that be rescheduled?No one is relying on him except for himself.It’s not like it would inconvenience anyone.“Can you move the rehearsal?”

Zuko looks at Sokka like he’s gone insane. “Are you serious?No.”

“Why not?It’s just one night, Zuko.”

“I can’t miss one night!” Zuko says, slamming his fork and knife down on the table. “If you slack off once, then you’ll do it again, and then it becomes a habit, and then—”

“I’m asking for one night, Zuko, not every Friday!” Sokka spits, knowing he’s being loud.Knowing he’s causing a scene, he’s embarrassing himself.But he can’t even bring himself to care, because what the fuck?How can Zuko not even consider this?How can he not put in any effort to making this work?

“I can’t give up one night, okay?” Zuko says.“One night could be the difference between me winning and losing.You think the other kids are skipping rehearsal?They’re not.”

“I’m not asking you to skip, I’m asking you to reschedule!Why can’t you just rehearse another time?”

“There are no other times!” Zuko cries. “I’m already rehearsing all the other times, there’s no time left.I’m already using all of it.”

Sokka stares at Zuko, wishing that just for one night, Zuko could stop pretending that he’s a robot.Could fucking prioritize their relationship, at all, ever.Could act like he cares about Sokka, like he cares about anything other than ballet.

So fucking busy.

“This is important to me, Zuko,” Sokka says.

“Can’t you just go with your friends?” Zuko asks.

“They’ll all have dates.I’ll be the only one without a date.It’ll be embarrassing.”

Zuko shrugs, looks away. “Well, sorry,” he says.But it doesn’t sound like _Sorry I won’t go with you._ It sounds like, _Sorry you care about stupid shit like homecoming._

He sinks about his seat, shrinking under Zuko’s angry gaze.Why is Zuko angry?Why does it feel like Sokka is the one who did something wrong, just for wanting to spend time with him?Just for expecting Zuko to put some effort into their relationship?Just for wanting him to care?

Why does is it always Sokka who’s fucking up?Why isn’t it ever Zuko?

“Look,” Zuko says, breaking the silence.“I have a lot going on right now.The Nutcracker pas is super hard, and so is my classical variation for the Prix, and I have to prepare a whole other contemporary variation, too, and—”

“Jesus Christ, can you shut up about ballet for a second?” Sokka spits.“You act like I actually give a shit about ballet.”

And Zuko has the audacity to look hurt.

“This is my life, Sokka,” Zuko says quietly.“And if you can’t respect that—”

“And this is my life,” Sokka says.“And mine matters too.”

“It’s a school dance, Sokka.”

“It’s everything.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, and Sokka knows he won’t even try to understand.He knows how trivial Sokka’s life must seem to Zuko.How small it must look.

Sokka props his elbows up on the table and buries his head in his hands.Digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.He thought having a boyfriend was supposed to be fun.

Zuko sighs.“I want to go to homecoming with you,” he says, his voice wobbly.Sokka looks up, and his hands are in his hair, like he may cry.“I just— I have to— I— It’s a shitty time right now.And I know that it’s probably not fun to date me.But it’s just... how it has to be, right now.And I want to be fun, I want to do fun things but, I can’t—I can’t fuck up, I can’t waiver, right now.I need to be focused.That’s what everyone keeps telling me, I need to focus, I can’t get distracted.”

Sokka looks at Zuko weakly.He doesn’t know what to say, has no idea how it would feel to be in Zuko’s position.Has never really had anyone expecting things from him.

“I just—” Zuko shakes his head.“I’m so overwhelmed right now,” he whispers, his voice breaking.“I’m so...”

Sokka leans forward, grabs Zuko’s hand across the table.Squeezes.

“I get it,” he says softly.

***

The night of homecoming, Sokka just stays home.He doesn’t want to go alone, doesn’t want to deal with his friends mocking him for not having a date.Mocking Zuko for not being fun.

Katara has some friends over, and he can hear them playing music in her room as they get ready together.

Sokka just smokes and watches TV in his room.Forces himself not to watch anyone’s snapchat story, tries to keep himself from feeling left out.

And really, so what?Who fucking cares?It’s just homecoming.So what if Zuko rejected his invitation?At least Sokka’s relaxing, meanwhile Zuko is working his ass off, non-stop.

He watches through the window as Zuko walks into his bedroom and slumps into bed.He’s been looking like an under-watered flower, lately, his head always drooping.So tired.On their dates, which are becoming less and less frequent, he sometimes falls asleep in the car ride home, and yeah, it’s a little cute, but mostly it’s just sad.

Dating Zuko is sad.

And Zuko’s life is sad, now that Sokka thinks about it.Yeah, maybe Sokka’s a lost cause, but that’s better than what Zuko’s got going for him.The whole world treating him like he’s a robot, and no courage to rebel against it.No courage to even ask for a break when he’s in pain.

It’s pathetic, really.Sokka takes some comfort in that.It doesn’t matter that Sokka’s not good at anything.At least he feels like a person, and he’s not sure Zuko ever does.He’s not sure anyone else even understands that Zuko is a person, besides him.Maybe Toph, but Toph seems a lot like Zuko.

“Zuko’s the one who should be feeling bad for himself, not me,” Sokka says aloud.“I feel bad for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh are there any zukka fic writer discord servers or anything like that i want friends
> 
> im kingzuk0 on tumblr


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever, but its 10k words so hopefully that makes up for it?
> 
> also, ive gotten a few questions about this so here is a note re: toph's blindness. this is a plot point that comes up later in the fic. toph is slowly going blind. at this point in the fic, her sight is impaired enough that she wold be considered legally blind, but she's not yet completely blind like she is in the show. she knows that at some point, she will be, though. it hasn't come up in the fic yet because sokka doesn't know, zuko is... kind of caught up in his own world right now (and to him, it seems so distant that it doesn't really seem real yet). i also sort of wanted it to be a reveal. but considering ive had people ask about it and think that i was erasing her disability or people who were just generally confused, i thought this would be good to clarify now.
> 
> on w the fic!

Zuko stares at the email, and the email stares back.

Sender: Aurélie Dupont.Subject: Invitation to Company Class

Zuko feels like a little boy on Christmas morning who just heard one of his presents bark.He wants to open it, but he’s afraid the puppy might just be a toy that makes sound.

Because, sure, Zuko’s been getting a lot of emails since he was chosen for the Prix.All the contestants have been.He even got one from Pointe Magazine, asking him what company he’d choose if he won.He said American Ballet Theatre in New York.It was the best company in America, the company is dad danced at briefly, that he wanted him to dance at.

But an email from Aurélie Dupont?This had to be a joke.

He opened it.

_DearZuko,_

_First, I would like to say congratulations on being selected for the Prix de Lausanne!I look forward to seeing you in April, in class and performing your variation.I know that many teenagers do not know the names of the directors of many companies, so let me introduce myself: I’m Aurelie, and I’m the director of the Paris Opéra Ballet._

_I have an invitation for you.Paris Opéra Ballet begins our tour of North America in just a few days.I would like to invite you to take company class in New York with us this Saturday.I have seen your Prix de Lausanne preliminary videos and I am interested to see you in person, in class, with the company._

_Please let me know as soon as possible if you’ll be attending, and I’ll send you the time and address._

Zuko flops back onto his bed, laughing.He screenshots the email, sends it toToph.

Her response is immediate: holy fucking shit

Yeah.Holy fucking shit is right.The Paris Opera Ballet wants to seeZuko in company class.That means they want to see how he fits in with the company, right?That means they’re interested in him.

Holy fucking shit.

Zuko smiles and closes his eyes.Imagines life at the Paris Opera.Imagines dancing under the direction of Aurélie Dupont, being in the studio everyday with fucking Sylvia Guillem and Matthias Heymann.Imagines dancing in one of the big four companies: Paris Opera, The Royal, Bolshoi, and Mariinsky.The best in the world.AndZuko might be there.

Everyone would be so happy with him.

Well, except—

He’s supposed to go to ABT.

He wants to go to ABT.

His dad wants him to go to ABT.

Besides, does he really want to move to Europe?It’s so far away from home.If he went to a company in New York, his dad could drive into the city to see him perform and to make sure he was okay.That’s very important to his dad.And Zuko needs that.He needs someone to make sure he’s doing alright and to tell him what the right decisions are.That’s not something he’s ever been any good at.

Still, the Paris Opera...

Well, it doesn’t mean anything, really.It’s just a class.He’s not committing to anything and neither are they.Maybe they’ll see him in person and decide they actually hate him and then he won’t even have to make any decisions.And if they do like him, doesn’t that mean ABT definitely will?Only good can come of it, really.

He replies to the email, accepting the invitation.

***

The next morning, he showsIroh the email.

“I can’t believe it,”Zuko says asIroh reads

“I can.”Iroh hands the phone back to him.“Of course they’d be interested.”

Zuko grins.

“You’ll be taking the train into New York for this?”

Zuko nods.

“So it’ll really take up your whole day, then.”He purses his lips.“I suppose we could make that work, but we’ll have to make up for those hours this week then.”

“Okay.”

“We could... I guess we could stay until eleven each night.”He grimaces.“I’d hate to do that to you, though.”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?It’s pretty intense.I don’t want you to be exhausted on Saturday.”

“I’m sure,”Zuko says.He’s gotten very good at dancing while exhausted.In fact, fatigue doesn’t seem to affect him at all anymore.Maybe he’s grown past it.

“Alright, then,”Iroh says.

“Oh,”Zuko says, before he goes to the barre.“Can you—Can you maybe not tell my dad about the company class?”

Iroh smiles.“I doubt he’d be upset about it...”

He’s probably right, but... Why risk it?

“But... sure.”

That night,Zuko doesn’t get home from rehearsal until midnight.Dad has dinner waiting for him.He eats it while Dad takes his phone and watches videos of that day’s rehearsals.Now that Nutcracker rehearsals have started, there’s more for him to watch, more for him to critique.It takes longer.

“Zuko, stop arching your back on those lifts, how many times do I have to tell you?”

Zuko shrugs, slumped over his plate. His eyes droop closed.“I’m trying.”

“Not enough, clearly,” he mumbles, her eyes glued to the phone.“If you really cared about this, you’d be doing strength training every night after rehearsals.The time in the studio isn’t enough to build the muscle that you need.”

Zuko nods, but he doesn’t know if he’s right. Iroh’s been telling him that when he’s this busy, he needs sleep more than he needs cross-training.But that’s clearly not working, because he’s not strong enough to even comfortably lift Mai, who weighs about seven pounds.

He tries to balance it—half the nights he chooses sleep, the other half he stays up and extra hour to train.But that doesn’t seem to do anything other than make both Iroh and Dad equally unhappy with him.That’s how he knows it’s a fair compromise.

“I’m just tired, with the extra rehearsals,”Zuko mumbles. “MaybeToph was right not to do Nutcracker and the Prix.It’s too—”

“No.This is good preparation for when you’re in a company.You think professionals just focus on one thing at a time?They’re always juggling multiple things.”

“I guess...”Zuko concedes.What does he know, really?It’s not like he’s ever been a professional before.

But he feels like—and he’s been afraid to say this out loud, for fear that voicing it might make the feeling harden into fact—it feels like maybe he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

He buries the thought while he can still breathe.

His phone buzzes, and his Dad raises her eyebrows.“It’s your friend,Sokka.”He hands over the phone.

“My boyfriend,”Zuko clarifies.Opens the next.

_Lol i got into a fucking fist fight at school today_ , accompanied by a photo of bruised knuckles.

Well, at least it’s not as cliché as a black eye. _Oh, Sokka, let me nurse you back to health, thank you for defending my honor._ Still, suburban rich kids physically fighting in high schools seems like something out of 80s teen romcom.

Which actually fits in quite well with the way Sokka acts generally. He probably thinks life is The Breakfast Club, and he’s John Bender andZuko is Claire Standish.Meanwhile, life is actually Mean Girls and everyone is Regina George getting hit by the bus.Zuko is, somehow, also the bus.

_Holy shit,_ Zuko texts back, remembering he’s supposed to be concerned. _are u okay????_

_Yeah. i won. Im suspended tho lol_

Of course he is.Typical Sokka.Zuko doesn’t know why he insists on fucking himself over so much.Why no one’s called him out on it. Why his dad doesn’t do anything about it. If Zuko pulled half the shit that Sokka did, Dad would…

Well, Zuko wouldn’t pull half the shit that Sokka does. 

“I don’t know why you think it’s a good idea to date someone right now,” Dad says, interruptingZuko’s train of thought.“You have enough going on.You don’t really need a distraction.”

“I like him.”

Dad snorts.“Obviously.But just because you like something—”

“Someone.”

He sighs.“It doesn’t matter.You have to have discipline.””

“I’m at the studio, all day, everyday, Dad!”Zuko says dropping his phone into his lap.How could he possibly want more from Zuko?What more does Zuko even have left to give?

“You’re too tired to cross-train, but you’re not too tired to go on dates with him every weekend?Not too tired to stay up late talking to him at your window?”

Zuko groans.He hasn’t even been talking toSokka at the window lately, there hasn’t been time.And just because he takes a couple hours one night a week...

“You never talked back to me before you started dating him,” Dad says.“You think I don’t know what he’s like?What he gets up to?He’s a bad influence on you, and it won’t be worth it.You’ll break up and—”

“Alright, I’m gonna go cross-train now,”Zuko says, ejecting himself from his seat and dashing out of the room.

It feels as though there are pin pricks in his skull.He can’t stay in that room any longer, he can’t.

He does his cross-training exercises with tears in his eyes, and in the shower he lets them out.Lets the water run scalding hot over his skin and pretends it just warmth.

When Zuko is lying in bed, just a few moments from sleep, there’s a knock at the door.

Zuko inhales. Holds his breath.“Yeah?” he says, speaking on the exhale.

Dad pokes her head through the door.A beam of light from the hallway hitsZuko’s gaze, and his father is nothing more than a silhouette.“You alright?”he asks.

Zuko frowns.“Yes?”

He smiles softly, walks over to the bed.Just looks at him.

“Is something wrong?”Zuko asks, dread pooling in his stomach.

Dad shakes his head, sits down on the corner of his bed.“No.No, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Zuko swallows.“Okay.”

“I don’t mean to stress you out,” he says, sighing.“I know that you have a lot going on right now.”

Zuko stares.

“I’m sorry if I upset you.I know that dating can be fun.Sokka is... Well, I don’t really know much about him.But, you know, over the years, I’ve seen what he has going on at his house.It doesn’t take much to figure out what he... does for fun.So, it’s surprising that you... connected with him.I don’t know where his father is, why he’s not... I don’t know the situation with their family.And, who knows, maybe he’s a good kid.Deep down.He just seems lost.”He doesn’t look atZuko as he talks, doesn’t even try to.Just stares at the way, away from the bed, into darkness.As if he's just thinking out loud.

“ Sokka’s not lost,”Zuko says.“He’s very... stubborn.”

Dad closes his eyes, smiles with closed lips.“Maybe,” he admits.

A moment passes.“You wanted to talk aboutSokka?”Zuko asks.

“No.Well, sort of, yes.”He shakes her head.“I just don’t want you to regret anything, or be disappointed.”

“What do you mean?”

He closes his eyes.Whispers.“It’s easy to get carried away, when you’re in love.When you’re in love for the first time, especially.You can get so wrapped up in... whatever you think is going on between you and someone else, so wrapped in your relationship.But you need to remember who you are, okay?What you want.”

Zuko tries to slice through Dad’s skull, into his brain, tries to see what his closed eyes see.Tries to see those same lights, that same darkness.Tries to understand, but he doesn’t.He doesn’t at all.But he just nods as if he gets it.

(As if he’s ever understood anything.As if he knows anything about the way people interact with each other, the way they see the worldAs if he knows anything but abs contracted, a lift in his lower spine, a closed ribcage, lats pulling down, chest pulling up, butt and inner thighs squeezing.As if he knows how people even talk to each other, language beyond _Very nice,Zuko_ or _Try that again, you can do better_ , and what people mean when they say _I love you_.)

“I know that you’re trying,” Dad says.“I know that you’re working hard.And I really don’t mean to make you upset, but... This time, this year... It’s hard.But it’ll only be worth it if you do it right.And technique is there for a reason,Zuko.It keeps you safe.So, if I see you doing something that isn’t anatomically sound, then I have to say something.”

Zuko nods, not knowing how he’s supposed to feel.How this conversation was supposed to make him feel.He wishes Dad would just tell him, and then he would just go ahead and feel it.

“A lot of things come naturally to you with ballet.But not everything will, and for whatever reason, this is just something you need a reminder for.It’s just one of those things that you have to work a little harder at.”Dad reaches forward and squeezes Zuko’s shoulder.“I know you’ll be able to fix it.”

Zuko nods.Tries to make his heart stop beating so fast.Was this supposed to calm him down?He just feels worse.His dad has never felt so bad about his dancing that he’s felt the need to come talk to him about it at one in the morning.

“Well,” he says.“It’s late.You should sleep.”He ruffles Zuko’s hair and leaves.

Zuko gets maybe four hours of sleep.When he wakes, his body is so exhausted and sore that it’s painful just to sit up in bed.

He takes some advil, makes a shit ton of coffee.Tries to pull himself together.

Three weeks until opening night of the Nutcracker.Seven weeks until closing, until winter break.

Six months until he flies to Switzerland to compete in Prix de Lausanne.Four months and one week until winners are announced.Nine months untilZuko begins his first season as a professional dancer.

More immediately: School until nine.Ballet from ten until 11:30.Men’s class from 11:30 to 12:30, partnering from 12:30 to 1:30.Lunch break.Then three hours of rehearsal for the Grand Pas de Deux with Mai, this year’s Sugarplum, since Toph is out, andKyoshi, their director.Than an hour long rehearsal for the Coda.Then, four, maybe five hours of rehearsal for the Prix with Iroh.

He nearly cries just thinking about the schedule. _One thing at a time_ , Toph told him last week, when he started thinking about the Nutcracker in the middle of rehearsal for the Prix and suddenly couldn’t breathe. _Just one rehearsal at a time.Don’t think beyond that._

But how could he not think beyond the current moment, when everything he was doing was in preparation for the future?

And on top of everything, he has to eat and sleep and shower and remind his heart that it’s supposed to beat regularly, not whatever the fuck it’s been doing.He has to remember to laugh at his friends’ jokes and be polite and respectful to his teachers and text back _fdjsjfdskj_ whenSokka sends a meme and not grimace when he’s in pain.

On Tuesday, they’re running the Grand Pas for the fifth time that day when, in the middle of a lift, his back twinges and his knees and elbows buckle.He catches Mai before she can fall too hard, her body flailing on top of his. He sets her down.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“What happened?”Mai asks.

Zuko shrugs.The music stops.

“You need to get it together,Zuko,”Kyoshi says.“That can’t happen on stage.”

“I know.Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just fix it.”She sighs and push her hair back.“I know you’re busy with the Prix, but that’s no excuse to slack here.”

“I’m not—”Zuko shakes his head, closes his eyes.“Okay.Sorry.”

Kyoshi turns to one of the other trainers, discussing something.

Mai looks up atZuko.“I could lose weight.Would that help with the lifts?”

Zuko shrugs, trying to readKyoshi’s lips.“Yeah, maybe,” he says mindlessly.

Zuko could tellKyoshi that his back has been hurting, that he needs a minute... But there’s no time for a break.They need to fix this Pas. Zuko know’s he’s been fucking this up.He knows that it’s a mess, and that’s 60% his fault.

There’s no way for him to admit that he’s in pain without people thinking he can’t handle what he’s doing.No way to ask for advice without people trying to force him to take a break, interrupting his rehearsal time that’s more important now than ever.

He kills the impulse.It’s impractical to tell anyone about his back right now.He can ice it when he gets home.

“Don’t worry about what she thinks.”Mai scratches the skin under her leotard strap.“She knew what she was getting herself into when she casted us.”

Zuko jolts.“What?”

“The only reason she casted us is becauseToph isn’t available, which makes her partner not available.You had to know we weren’t her first choice.”

“So what?”

“Look, everyone knows that you can’t do lifts and I can’t get through adagios.She knew this was going to be a shit show, she can’t get mad at us for it now.”

“It won’t be a shitshow,”Zuko snaps.He won’t fuck this up.

Mai puts her hands up in surrender, walks away to get water.

Zuko stands alone in the center of the room, surrounded by all his castmates, who just saw him dropMai.He wraps his arms around his stomach, suddenly hyperaware of how tight his clothes are.How everyone can see every breath he takes.

He grabs water from his back that lies next toToph in the corner of the room.Rummages around for his phone.It’s something to occupy him, so everyone isn’t just staring at him stand there.

Toph puts her hand on his leg, squeezes.“You’re doing fine.Don’t freak out.”

Zuko grunts in response, pulls his phone out.

New text fromSokka: _wanna hang out this weekend?_

Fuck.He really can’t.But he can’t turnSokka down again, either, now after their fight about homecoming.

Sokka was so upset, andZuko was kind of an asshole, he’ll admit, but it was just... so much.Too much.

Hanging out with Sokka shouldn’t feel like another item to check off his to-do list, not when it’s something he actually enjoys.But recently, everything has become a target to be hit, a goal to be achieved.Even Sokka’s desire forZuko to “have more fun,” and “relax more” is a task, isn’t it?He’ll add it to his to-do list: Relax more. Have fun.

The door opens andIroh pokes his head in.“Zuko?” he says.“I need you for rehearsal.”

“No,”Kyoshi says.“I have him for another hour.”

Iroh holds up the schedule.“It’s five.I start with him at five.”

“This goes until six.”

Iroh walks in, and the two of them stare at the schedule.

“Shit, we double-booked him,”Kyoshi says.

Zuko stares atIroh andKyoshi, wide-eyed.They’ll figure this out, right?It’ll be okay, right?It’s just a scheduling mistake, that’s not his fault.They’re the adults, they’ll work it out.

“I need him for another hour.This is a mess,”Kyoshi says.

Iroh shakes his head.“We haven’t even finished his contemporary variation, I need him now.”

“No!”

“The Prix is more important than the Nutcracker,”Iroh says.

“For him personally, but for the studio as a whole?”

The two of them bicker whileZuko watches, his breathing shaky.Where is the solution?Where is the answer that makes everyone happy?They’ll find it, they have to find it, because this scheduling mistake was not his fault, they can’t...

“ Zuko, you can decide,”Iroh says.“Which rehearsal do you want to do?”

His ears ring as he feels the blood drain from his face.The chatter around the room is muted, as if they’ve all been plunged under water. Zuko looks around the room at all the expectant faces, and he knows that this is going to end up being about far more than an hour of rehearsal.It’ll be a declaration of his priorities.

The Prix is a bigger deal for his career, but the Nutcracker is in just three weeks.

“I—” he whispers, his breath catching in his throat.He licks his lips.“I—”

“ Zuko?”Toph asks.

“I can’t breathe,” he whispers to her.His eyes feel wet.

She grabs him by the wrist and tugs.She tugs him through a fog of white noise and whispers, of the heavy eyes and expectations.Then he’s in the bathroom, andToph’s saying something to him, but he can’t hear her, he can’t even breathe—

His back hits the wall, knocks the silence away.

“ Zuko,”Toph says, her hand against his chest.She pushed him, he realizes.“Listen to me.You can breathe.You control your breathing, your breathing doesn’t control you.”

Zuko nods, feeling watery and weak.“I’m— I don’t know, I’m so—”

“You’re stressed out,”Toph says.“And you have a right to be.You have a lot going on.Breathe.In and out, you’ve been doing it since you were a baby, come on.In and out.”

Zuko takes a deep breath, counts it. Keeps it even.Looks towards the door.“I should get back in there.”

“No.You can in a few minutes.You need to take a second to breathe, they’ll understand that.Talk to me.Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Zuko closes his eyes, tears dropping onto his cheeks.“It just feels like everyone is disappointed in me,” he whispers.

“No one is disappointed in you.We’re still in rehearsals.How could they be disappointed?”

Zuko shrugs.“Then they will be disappointed in me.”

“No, they won’t.You’re doing a great job,Zuko.Sure, there are things that need fixing, but that’s why we have these rehearsals,” she whispers.

“It just feels like there’s so much going on,” Zuko says.“And everyone wants something different from me, and I don’t know how to give everyone what they want at the same time.Like, Iroh wants me to focus on the Prix, and Kyoshi wants me to focus on the Nutcracker, and my dad wants me to focus on like, I don’t know, eating protein, and Mai probably wants me to stop dropping her during rehearsals, and even Sokka...”

Toph narrows her eyes.“ Sokka’s being an asshole?”

“No, I’m being an asshole!”

“Okay, but there’s no way he’s not being an asshole.Just judging from, you know, that time thatSokka was a horrible asshole and you decided to make out with him in a gas station parking anyway.”

“Then we’re both assholes!”

“How?”

Zuko shakes his head, reliving their last date.That big fight over a fucking school dance.It was ridiculous.And it just proved that Sokka really didn’t understand what Zuko did at all.He’s competing in the most prestigious ballet competition in the world, but rehearsal for that is less important than a school dance?And since when does Sokka even give a shit about school or dances?Homecoming seems like the type of thing he would make fun of.

But for whatever reason, it turned out not to be, andZuko guesses he should have respected that instead of saying “I don’t even go to school” like the biggest douche bag on Earth.He could have just said, “I’m really sorry, I have rehearsal that can’t be missed—let’s do something nice the next night,” or something like that, and the whole evening probably would have gone very differently. Sokka would have been disappointed, sure, but it wouldn’t have escalated the way it did...

He fucked up.In the studio, with his mom, withSokka... Who knew he could disappoint so many people in such little time?Well, at least he’s efficient.

“I told him I couldn’t go to homecoming with him, and...” He sighs.“He got upset, and I... I sort of snapped, I don’t know, it was bad.”

Toph frowns.“Maybe you were being an asshole.Is he still upset about it?”

“I wouldn’t know, because I’m always fucking here, and he like, doesn’t have feelings.Officially.Unofficially, who the fuck knows what’s going on?And now he wants to hang out this weekend, but I’m going to New York on Saturday, but if I say no he’ll be upset because now that’s twice in a row that I couldn’t hang out and I—”Zuko swallows, feeling his breathing pick up again.“And it’s like, he just wants me to be a normal boyfriend.But I don’t live a normal life, and he knows that, he knows that I have Nutcracker and the Prix, but he still is like, demanding that I put more effort into our relationship, or whatever, and I don’t know, he’s not wrong but. It just feels like he’s one more person demanding something from me, it’s just one more thing that I’m fucking up. And now I have to worry about this class with Paris Opera on Saturday, too, and that’s probably why they’re so mad.And everyone wants different things from me, and everyone wants me to decide, but how am I supposed to decide?I’ve never been allowed to decide anything, and now I’m just supposed to know how to do it, and—” he breaks off into a sob, andToph squeezes him tight.

She rubs his back.“It’ll be okay,” she says softly.“It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.Just breathe.”She holds him for a long time as he cries, as he catches his breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whimpers, eventually.

“You just have to take it one thing at a time, okay?Just one thing at a time.”

“So what do I do aboutSokka?He wants to hang out this weekend, I have to give him an answer.”

She shrugs.“Tell him you can’t hang out on Saturday but you can on Sunday.And you should probably do something romantic for him, to make up for the homecoming thing, but... It doesn’t have to be right this second.”

“And what about this rehearsal?Which do I choose?”

“Make them choose.They’re the adults, not you.They were the ones that double-booked you, they can figure out a solution.”

Zuko sniffles. "Remember when ballet used to be fun?" he asked, feeling watery.

Toph smiles softly."It still is.You're just stressed."

The door swings open, and one of the younger girls walks in.Stares atZuko.“UM—”

“Can’t you see we’re having an emotional moment, here?”Toph snaps.

“Well, can’t you have it somewhere else?This is the girl’s room.You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Oh my god, I'm a fucking Prix de Lausanne finalist, I can be wherever the fuck I want," Zuko says.

“This is the girl's bathroom," she reiterates.

"It _was_ the girl's bathroom. Now it's Zuko's crying room. You're the intruder, now get out!"  Toph throws paper towels at the girl.She scurries away.

Zuko and Toph stare at the door for a moment, then erupt into giggles. Zuko laughs so easily these days.It feels like it’s being pulled out of him, from deep within his stomach.But the laughter never truly feels happy.

Eventually, it dies down.

Zuko groans, his face heating up as the reality of the situation hits him.He really had a meltdown in front of everyone. Toph pulled him out of the room before he hit the peak, but still, he disrupted rehearsal.“They’re gonna be so mad at me for getting upset.I acted like a five year old.”

“No, they’re going to understand that you’re a human being, and you’re sixteen, and sometimes you get upset.And if they don’t understand, I’ll kill them.”

Zuko sniffs, unconvinced.

“ Zuko,” Toph says, tugging on his hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I droppedMai.”

“So fucking what?She didn’t get hurt, and it wasn’t onstage.They can live with it.”

A knock at the door.Mai pokes her head in. “Zuko, they say they need you back in there...” She looks him up and down, and her face softens into concern.“Do you want me to just tell them you’re sick or something?” she whispers. “Maybe you should go home.”

Zuko shakes his head, wipes his eyes.“No, no, I’m good. I just needed a second. I’m fine.”

He straightens and heads towards the door.

“You’re welcome, dickhead,” Toph deadpans from behind him.

He turns, smiles at her. “Thanks.Love you.”

He goes back in to find that Iroh has won, and they’re rehearsing for the Prix.They head into another studio, and as soon as the door is closed, Iroh says, “I could tell you needed a break from that.”

Zuko nods.

“I don’t think she would have gotten much more out of you today, anyway.You seem exhausted.Mai, too.” Iroh says, finding music on his lap top.

“It’s a really physically demanding role.”

Iroh nods. Eyes him. “You okay?”

Zuko nods.

“Toph’s a good friend.Don’t take that for granted.”

“I won’t.”

“Well,”Iroh says, straightening up from his lap top.“Back to work.”

***

Zuko has an idea. These are rare, and usually bad, but he thinks this one is pretty good.

Ask Sokka to go into New York with him on Saturday.The company class is only an hour and a half long, they’ll have the rest of the day to spend in the city.They can go to a museum or be romantic in the park.Sokka seems like the type of person to enjoy being romantic in parks, as long as there’s no one around he knows to see him do it.

SoZuko tells Sokka about his great idea.

“That’s a great idea,”Sokka says.

They stand at their windows,Zuko sweaty and unshowered from dance,Sokka in sweatpants and no shirt, which, he’s not sly, he definitely did that on purpose.No way he was just lounging half-naked nonchalantly by chance, he can see whenZuko’s car pulls into the driveway.

Perhaps,Zuko likes what he sees.But let’s be real, if they’re comparing ab-definition, there’s no competition.One of them clearly spends their days doing intense physical activity, and the other one is eating a twinkie as they speak.

“What even is a company class?” Sokka asks.

“It’s like... You know how I take ballet class every morning?They do that in professional companies too.It’s basically so the dancers can warm up, work on their technique, get corrections... That type of thing.They want me to come because... I guess they want to see me in a class setting, to see how I compare against their dancers instead of just other students.”

Sokka nods.

“So, the company class will last for like, an hour and half?But then we can stay for the rest of the day and catch the train back.”

Sokka sucks in on the inside of his cheek. “What if... What if we just spend the night in the city?”

“But where?”

“At a hotel,”Sokka says, shrugging like it’s no big deal.Like he’s just shirtless by chance.

Goddammit,Zuko is going to lose his virginity on prom night, isn’t he?This is what he gets for dating a bad boy, he supposes.

“What hotel? With what money?”Zuko demands.

“I can just put it on my dad’s credit card.”

“She’ll agree to that?”

Sokka smirks.“He doesn’t have to. I’ll just do it and if he gets mad, he gets mad.”

Zuko stares at him, uncomprehending.If he gets mad, he gets mad? Sokka hasn’t toldZuko much about his parents, but who the fuck isn’t terrified of their dad being mad at them?

“Zuko,”Sokka laughs.“Live a little.”

“I am living a little.I didn’t even—” He lowers his voice to a whisper.“I didn’t even tell my dad about this class.”

“How scandalous!You’re taking a ballet class that your dad doesn’t know about, even though all you do all day is take ballet classes!The controversy!”

Zuko rolls his eyes.“You don’t get it.It’s essentially an audition.”

“Either way, it’s not like you’re doing anything he’d get mad at you for.”

Zuko crosses his arms.“I’m already lying to my dad.I don’t need your dad having us fucking arrested for credit card fraud on top of that!”

“Okay, first of all, I’d be the one getting arrested, not you.And second, my dad doesn’t care what I do.Even if this somehow gets his attention, I can handle it.Don’t worry about him.”

Zuko bites his lip.He doesn’t really have any real reason not to want to do this, but...

He and Sokka have never spent the night together.And nowSokka is standing here, shirtless, suggesting they stay in a hotel together. Zuko isn’t going to letSokka seduce him.At least, not yet.In the wise words of sixteen-year-old Avril Lavgine, _Hey yeah yeah, hey yeah yeah, and I know I’m not ready, hey yeah yeah, hey yeah._ In a few months, maybe it’ll be all _hey yeah yeah._

But not today.

But what the fuck is he supposed to say? _Sorry, I don’t want to spend the night with you in a hotel because I’m not ready for sex yet?_ That’s lame. Sokka’s probably never had to wait for someone to be ready—he’d just go on to the next available person.It’s also sort of presumptuous.

“Okay, fine, let’s go to the hotel,”Zuko says.But he will not be seduced.He promises himself that.His asshole is exit-only until further notice.

***

The day arrives.

They have to get up insanely early to take the train and then the subway to the class Zuko is taking, and to give him time to warm up once he gets there.So there’s plenty of time for Zuko to get nervous.

As if that’s ever been an issue.

Sokka falls asleep on the train, his head againstZuko’s shoulder.Zuko picks at his fingernails.Points and flexes his feet.It hits him that he’s really had no guidance for today.Sure, auditions are structured the same way classes are, and Zuko knows how to audition, but he’s always had someone to tell him good luck.Has always had someone to talk him down, or up, or whatever he needs.

He wishes he’d told his dad about the audition. He’d be obnoxious about it, surely, but he’d at least give him a correction or something to focus on. Iroh would give him some type of directive, too.Instead, Zuko sits in a swarm of everything he does incorrectly while he dances, trying to catch one that he should fix.

All he has isSokka, who doesn’t really have more to say than _Don’t worry, you’ll be great._ Zuko rolls his eyes just at the thought.As ifSokka even knows what great looks like.

Zuko takes a deep breath and tries to take comfort in the fact that he’s always danced better when he’s nervous.But then he remembers that he shouldn’t take too much comfort in that, because then he’ll stop being nervous.

Zuko has to nudgeSokka awake as their train arrives.They ride in silence to the studio, then hover awkwardly by the door.

“Should I come in with you?”Sokka asks, eyeing the building.Tall with ceiling to floor windows, each showcasing a different studio, a different group of dancers.

“Probably not,”Zuko says.He needs to focus,Sokka will just fluster him.As well-intentioned as Sokka is, his meaningless advice of y _ou’ll be fine,_ and _you got this_ , is more distracting than helpful.“Maybe just, walk around?Chill in a coffee shop?This should be two hours, tops.”

Sokka nods. “Okay.Well.”He rocks back on his heels.“Good luck.No!Break a leg.Right?”

Zuko smiles. “Merde.”

“What?”

“Dancers say merde. I’ll explain it later.”

“Okay. Merde. Go kick ass, don’t hold back”Sokka says.Kisses him.Leaves.

Zuko walks into the building, takes the elevator to the fourth floor, as instructed.He’s about twenty minutes early, so he has time to warm up and speak to whoever he needs to speak to.

As he walks through the lobby area, he looks at all the dancers around him.They all wear a million layers of warmup clothes, unlike at his studio, where everyone wears a uniform.The women wear their tights over their leotard.They chat to one another casually, rolling out their ankles or swinging their knees to open up their hips.A couple are sewing pointe shoes.

They all seem so mature, so at-ease, and it makesZuko feel like he’s six, not sixteen.Everyone here has accomplished whatZuko wants to.Everyone here is one of the most talented, accomplished dancers in the world. Zuko squirms, wants to go home.What is he doing here?Why was he invited?Who is he even kidding—

“ Zuko!” someone calls, andZuko turns to see her.Aurélie Dupont.Fuck.

“Hello,”Zuko says, his voice sounding small and strained.He interlaces his fingers and twists his wrists around.Aurélie sticks out her hand, andZuko rushes to untangle his fingers and shake it.Act like a fucking adult, you idiot, he thinks to himself.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Aurélie says.

“You too,”Zuko squeeks out.

Aurélie looks him up and down. “You’re not too tall at all.”

Zuko stares, unsure what to make of that.“Thank you so much for inviting me,” he says, remembering himself.“It’s such an honor to take class with you.The Paris Opéra is—”

“But you like ABT, no?You said so in your interview” she says.

Zuko opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.His heart thuds.

She laughs.“Don’t worry.I won’t hold that against you.When I was your age, I wanted to dance at Mariinsky.God, could you imagine?”

“No. I mean, yes.I mean...”Fuck.

“Don’t be nervous,” she says.“I’ll let you warm up, okay?Have fun, relax.”

Right, he’ll just relax when he’s in the same room as Alice Renavand.

Zuko finds a barre spot that doesn’t seem to bother anyone, between two girls in the corps who are nice enough but keep to themselves.He tries to focus, tries to treat it like a regular audition. Tries to pretend Matthias Heymann isn’t standing ten feet away from him.

Class begins.Barre is fine, not too easy, not too hard.It’s interesting to see what a company class is like; so many of the dancers alter the combinations or just do something different all together.That would never happen at a student class—you do the steps as the teacher says to.He doesn’t know what prompts the dancers here to alter things.In a year or so, he’ll be making those decisions, and the thought makes him a little nauseous.

At one point, Aurélie pauses next to him at the barre.Stares at him as he does his fondues.He tries to keep his hand off the barre as much as possible.

“Very good,” Aurélie says, after a particularly steady a la seconde balance.“Don’t forget to breathe.”

The class is fairly uneventful after that. Zuko gives every second his all and never stops feeling afraid, but he doesn’t make any mistakes or do anything spectacular.At the end, he feels... okay-ish.

He approaches Aurélie to thank her for the class, but she stops him before he can.

“I’d love to see your variation for Prix de Lausanne, if you feel okay about showing it.”

Zuko looks around the room.Plenty of the dancers have cleared out, but not everyone.Not Matthias Heymann, who is practically the king of the Sleeping Beauty Prince Variation.Not Alice Renavand, who’s basically the queen of literally everything else.

Fucking Christ, he’s really going to do a solo in front of the director and principal dancers of the Paris Opéra Ballet.

“Um, sure,”Zuko says.They figure out the music, andZuko goes to the corner of the stage to begin.He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. _You’ve got this_ , he tells himself. _It’s a hard variation but you’ve rehearsed it a million times.It will never be better than it is today_.He places a smile on his face, and the music begins.

The variation takes a lot out of him, but his fifths are tight, his leaps are clean, and his tours are all triples.Nothing went wrong.It was all very correct.

The dancers clap for him when it’s over, andZuko smiles awkwardly.Alice Renavand is fucking clapping for him, he is going to lose his shit as soon as he steps out of the room.

Aurélie smiles.“Very good, very good,Zuko.That’s a very difficult variation.”

Zuko nods.“Yeah, it’s... It’s not easy.”

“Matthias normally does it for us,” Aurélie says, nodding towards him.

“I’ve seen,”Zuko says, smiling.“I’ve seen it on youtube, I try to... It’s motivational, for me.”

Matthias laughs, not unkindly.

Aurélie looks to him.“Do you have any advice forZuko?”

“You have it down,” Matthias says.“You can do all of it.But you can make it a little more exciting.Plié more.”

Aurélie nods.“I agree.It’s technically very good, but it all looks a bit placed.Attack the movement.More passion.”

Zuko nods, his face heating up.So he was boring to watch.

“No, no, stop that,” Aurélie says.“Don’t get upset.It’s very impressive that you can do it all correctly, most people can’t.Especially at your age.”

Zuko nods, but he doesn’t want to be good for his age.He wants to be good, period.

“Let’s try it again, okay?” Aurélie says. “Excite me.”

Zuko runs back to his place, tries to be a good sport.He can’t get upset about corrections.He has to prove that he’s mature.That he can handle criticism.That he can be exciting.

He closes his eyes and thinks of whatSokka said to him.Kick ass.Don’t hold back.And the music begins.

Zuko puts his technique aside, puts the steps aside, and he disappears into the movement.And for the first time in what must be years, dancing feels like freedom.Dancing feels like lightness, and strength, and beauty not just as a decoration, but inside him, too.It feels like when you’re a child and you jump on the trampoline for the first time, the moment of weightlessness at the peak of your jump, the elated scream bubbling out of you.Joy.

When he’s done, the other dancers clap far more enthusiastically.

“So much better!” Aurélie cries.“What an improvement!”

Zuko feels a swell of pride in his chest.He can’t wait to tell everyone how well this went.

He and Aurélie walk out into the lobby together.

“I think you’re a very interesting dancer,” she says.“And if you dance like that at the Prix finals, your chances of winning are very good.”

“Thank you,”Zuko says, blushing hard.

“Now, if you win... I know you want ABT.And ABT is very good, for America.But... Why stay in America, when you’re talented enough for a European company?”

Zuko nods, but Auréile stays silent.He realizes it wasn’t a rhetorical question.“Oh,” he says.“Well, I don’t know, it’s just so far from home.”

“Mmm,” she says.“It is.But an ocean is not too large, in the grand scheme of things.”

Zuko stays silent.

“You have a while to decide.Keep an open mind,” she says, smiling.

And then she’s gone.AndZuko’s jumping up and down in the elevator.

Sokka’s just a block away from the studio, andZuko crashes into him with a hug.

“Guess it went well,”Sokka laughs as he rubsZuko’s back.

Zuko nods, stares up at him.“She said that I’m a _very interesting dancer._ I think they really liked me.”

“Predictable,”Sokka says.“Everyone does.”

Zuko shakes his head. “Not everyone.”

“Who?Isn’t the general consensus that you’re an incredible dancer?” Sokka says, grinning from ear to ear.Standing so close toZuko.He’d never do this in public at home, except for at that gas station in the middle of nowhere.But in the anonymity of a big city, he seems so much more comfortable.

Zuko thinks aboutSokka’s question.The general consensus. That would include his mom. Kyoshi. Mai, whoZuko has now dropped about eighteen million times, poor girl.The people at Paris Opéra didn’t see him partner.Or try to partner, rather.

“No,” Zuko says, a little wistfully. “No, not really.”

Sokka frowns. “You’re being self-deprecating because you’re hungry.Let’s get lunch.”

They get some good to-go and eat it in central park, sitting on the grass.Romance in a park.It’s probably the last day of the year that the weather will be nice enough to eat outside.

“So,”Sokka says, his mouth full of fries.“Maybe you’ll go to that company next year?”

Zuko shakes his head.“It’s in Europe.I don’t want to go abroad.Maybe when I’m older.But I’m not ready for that big of a change right now.”

“Why not?”

“I just... I just can’t do it, not yet.It’s too far away from everyone.I want to go to a company in New York.”

Sokka stares.“You’re not very independent.”

Zuko feels heat rise in his chest.“Just because you don’t—”Zuko cuts himself off before he says something cruel.“Most people my age aren’t ready to just move to another continent.And you wouldn’t be either.”

“I didn’t mean it in any type of way,”Sokka says, throwing his hands up in surrender.“I’d move to Europe if I had some great opportunity there, but... I guess I don’t really have anything I’m leaving behind.”He smiles up atZuko.“Besides you.”

“What about your friends?”Zuko asks.

“Everyone’s going their separate ways, anyway.”

“What about...”Zuko takes a deep breath, unsure if this question is a good idea.“What about your family?”

Sokka’s head snaps up to look at him.“What about them?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, steeling himself.“You'd be leaving them.”

Sokka bites his lip, looks down.“We’re not close.We don’t really talk like... at all.He’s always away on some business trip. And I love Katara, but... She's always at swim practice. Or with her swim friends.”

Zuko nods but stays silent.It’s not a way of living that he can imagine, not really.

“I wish...”Sokka plays with grass between his fingers, his eyes trained on each blade he pulls out.“I wish he cared more,” he whispers.

“Maybe that’s why he works so much.Because he cares, and wants to make sure you have the things you need,”Zuko tries, but the excuse sounds weak even to himself.Still, whatSokka’s proposing seems impossible, unnatural.

“I don’t think so,”Sokka says.“It’s not like we’re struggling financially. He could work less and I’d still have everything I need. He just...” He tears out a huge clump of grass.“He just doesn’t like me.”

Zuko reaches forward and squeezesSokka’s ankle.“I don’t really think that’s true.Maybe it seems like it but—“

Sokka yanks his foot away.“You don’t even know him.You don’t get it.Your dad is like, the perfect dad, he cares so much.My dad... He didn’t even care that I had been suspended.He probably won’t care that I booked a hotel room with his credit card.I could probably be kidnapped and it would take three weeks for him to even notice.”

Zuko sucks on the inside of his lower lip.“I’d notice.Pretty immediately.”

Sokka finally looks up atZuko and smiles.“Yeah, because you’d suddenly not have anyone to annoy you all day long.”

“I’d be like, _Oh my god, it’s been five minutes and he hasn’t sent me any memes, he must be dead_.”

Sokka laughs, tipping his face up towards the sun.His hair looks golden in the light, his skin smooth and soft.He extends his legs out in front of him, the picture of relaxation.

Zuko scoots on his knees over Sokka’s legs until his kneeling over his lap.Curves his hand around Sokka’s skull and kisses him hard.

Zuko spends a few hours givingSokka the romance in the park that he knows he’s secretly desperate for.Then they walk around for a few hours, popping in and out of stores. In a book shop, Sokka sits on the floor in one of the aisles and spends about thirty minutes reading a book whileZuko textsToph. He reminds her that she should remind his dad that they are having a Sleepover At Toph’s House, if his dad calls.Oh, the thrill of rebellion.Alexa, play Smells like Teen Spirit.

That evening, they eat dinner at a really casual place after not being allowed into a nicer restaurant, mostly because it was very obvious thatZuko didn’t shower after the class this morning.Still, the food is good, and the night is happy.

It’s a perfect day, and a perfect night, and the hotel will be--

Oh, god,Sokka is totally going to want to have sex.

No.No, no, no,Zuko is not going to be deflowered tonight!That flower is his!

But maybeSokka’s expecting it...

That doesn’t meanZuko can’t say no.

But maybeSokka deserves it, what with booking the hotel and being romantic at the park...

But that still doesn’t meanZuko can’t say no.

Zuko could give him a blowjob!Blowjobs are good compromises.

Except he doesn’t know how to give one.He textsMai under the table for guidance.She’s very knowledgeable about those types of things.

They hold hands as they walk to their hotel.The hotel isn’t overwhelmingly glamorous, but it’s definitely expensive: spacious, for New York, with the antiseptic, neutral decoration of most hotel rooms.White bedding, a view of the New York skyline. Zuko wonders how big that charge was onSokka’s dad’s credit card. 

When they get in,Zuko showers first, because his sweat is 10 hours old at this point and it’s getting disgusting.He scrubs every part of his body thoroughly.Just in case.

He leaves the bathroom with just his towel around his waist, hoping that maybe just looking at his body will be enough forSokka.But whenZuko steps into view,Sokka doesn’t look bewitched, he looks concerned. Or confused, or angry, or something,Zuko can’t tell.

“Um, you have a text fromMai,”Sokka says, his voice flat.

“Oh,”Zuko says, heading towards the table where his phone lies.

“I didn’t know you two still talk.”

Zuko freezes.LooksSokka in the eye.“I mean, she’s Sugarplum, so I have rehearsal with her everyday.”

Sokka’s eyebrows twitch.“What’s Sugarplum?”

“It’s like...”Zuko scratches his neck.“It’s the female lead in the Nutcracker.We have a Pas de Deux together.She’s playing my wife, I guess.”

Sokka opens his mouth, looks to the side.When he turns back, his face is contorted.Ugly.“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

Zuko blinks.“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“You didn’t know you were supposed to tell me that you have a _wife_?”

Zuko has to fight to keep himself from laughing.“It’s a role,Sokka.It’s not real life.”

Sokka lets out a bitter huff, like a raging bull. “You didn’t think that I would want to know that your ex-girlfriend is playing your love interest and you see her every fucking day in rehearsal.You didn’t think that would be something you should tell me?”

Zuko swallows, confused.“Just a few weeks ago you told me to shut up about ballet.I didn’t think you’d want to hear about this.”

Sokka shakes his head.“Don’t turn this around on me.This isn’t about ballet, you know you should have told me.”

Zuko feels all the blood in his body drizzle down to his feet.He didn’t know.He didn’t think this would matter, he didn’t even think of it.It’s a role.AndZuko didn’t decide who would be Sugarplum anyway.

“I don’t understand what you’re upset about,”Zuko says.“I didn’t do anything wrong.It’s the same as being in a play, it’s just acting.”

“I’m upset that you lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t think it was something you needed to know.I wasn’t actively trying to keep it from you.”Zuko looks around the room as if he’ll find help in it, as if he’ll find someone to back him up. “You don’t have anything to worry about withMai.You don’t have any reason to be jealous of her.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, plops down on the bed and looks at his lap

“I’m serious,”Zuko says, trying to stay calm.He sits down next toSokka, puts his hand on his thigh. “She’s still my friend, but... What I had with her was nothing near this.It wasn’t really even romantic.It was just a friendship that we called a relationship because we liked the idea of it.But there’s nothing between us.You’re the only person that I like.”

Sokka turns to him, his head whipping around almost violently.“Then why is she texting you at midnight on a Saturday?”

“Um,”Zuko says.“I don’t know, it’s probably just something about Nutcracker.”Definitely nothing about how to give a blow job.That is definitely not it.

“Can I see it?”Sokka asks.

“Why can’t you just trust me?”Zuko asks.

Sokka stares, as if it’s obvious.

Zuko unlocks his phone, and they open the text together.

Zuko: _sos pls tell me everything u know about blowjobs_

Mai: _step one: put it in ur mouth. step 2: chomp_

Sokka looks up atZuko, betrayal flashing in his eyes.“You were texting about blowjobs?”

Zuko jumps up, bouncing on his feet.“Only because I was scared!”

“Scared of what?”

“Blowjobs!”

“Why?”

“Because, because—”Zuko looks back and forth.“Because I thought that I should give you one tonight!”

Sokka stares at him.

“I thought that— I thought maybe you’d try to make me have you sex with you but I’m not ready yet so I thought I would give you a blow job as a compromise.”Zuko tightens the towel around his waist.

Sokka’s eyes widen and his neck tenses.“You thought I would make you have sex with me?” he hisses.“I’m not a fucking rapist,Zuko.”

“No, no, not like, literally,”Zuko rushes to correct him. “But like, maybe you’d be mad at me that I didn’t want to so I could give you a blowjob as like an in-between thing.”

“Why would I be mad that you didn’t want to have sex?”

“I just thought, with the hotel and everything, maybe you’d be expecting...”Zuko’s voice trails off.He picks at his towel.

Sokka stares up at him, his face stony but his eyes full of hurt.“I didn’t book this hotel room because I wanted to fuck you.I did it because I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Oh.”

Just keep fucking up,Zuko.

Sokka stands up, walks towards the window.Turns his back toZuko.“I can’t believe you thought I’d get mad at you for not having sex. You’re a virgin, and we like, just started dating, obviously I’m not just going to expect you to have sex with me. I believe that’s what kind of person you think I am.”

Zuko picks at a scab on his hands.“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sokka doesn’t say anything.

Zuko approaches him and puts a hand on his arm.“Sokka, I didn’t... I just... I’ve never really had a boyfriend before.And I don’t know, I got nervous. I don’t think that you’re, like, a bad guy.I just... I don’t know, this is how it goes on TV.”

Sokka laughs humorlessly.“I like you,Zuko.A lot.And it really bothers me that after everything I told you in the park today, you’d just... You’d just act like this is no big deal.”

“It’s not no big deal,”Zuko says.“I know that we’re important to you.But... You know that I have no clue how this shit works.”

Sokka swallows.

“Look, I made a stupid assumption.But not because I think you don’t care.Because I don’t know how to socialize, and I’m an idiot.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but takesZuko into his arms.“You’re not an idiot,” he says.“You definitely don’t know how to socialize though.”

Zuko buries his faceSokka’s shoulder, letsSokka squeeze him.

“Do you want to give me a blowjob?”Sokka asks.“Like, do you actually want to?”

“No,”Zuko says, the answer muffled bySokka’s shirt.“Not yet.”

“Then I don’t want you to give me one.”

“I’m sorry,”Zuko mumbles.

“I’m sorry too.About getting angry at you forMai.I should have trusted you,”Sokka says. Zuko can feel his chest rumbling against his ear.

“I wish we didn’t fight.I thought that people in relationships didn’t fight for like... six months, at least,”Zuko says.

Sokka laughs.“Then at six months, on the exact day, all the pent up aggression comes out at once.”

Zuko presses his nose againstSokka’s sternum.“I’m really happy that you’re my boyfriend.”

Sokka rests his chin on top ofZuko’s head.“Me too.You’re my best friend.”

Zuko turns his head so he can see out the window.He doesn’t know how much the room costs, but it must be pretty expensive with this view.They’ve climbed so far into the sky, together.Lights go on and off in different buildings.All these tiny rooms with tiny people in them.So many of them hold other dancers, other Zukos.And many of them hold couples, too.Pairs of lovers, fighting and laughing and holding each other just likeZuko and Sokka hold each other now.

But there’s only one room withSokka andZuko inside.There’s only two of them, with their unique brand of stupidity and inside jokes and specific way of holding one another.

They crawl into bed together shortly after, cuddling and whispering and giggling until it’s painful to keep their eyes open. Zuko falls asleep facing the lights outside, imagining all the different rooms, with all the different loves.And he feels special with his own right here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so have y'all ever heard the saying "disaster always strikes in act 2"? well, uh. yeah.

Football seasons ends, classmates turn in their early decision college applications, The Nutcracker approaches, and snow sticks to the ground. October rolls into November.

Zuko comes over on Saturday nights to “watch movies,” which mostly means make out and then pass out on Sokka’s chest. He isn’t always allowed to sleepover, so Sokka has to nudge him awake and make him walk home. With the purple rings now ever-present under Zuko’s eyes, it’s almost physically painful for Sokka to force him back into consciousness.

This isn’t every Saturday night, of course. Some of the time — more and more of the time — Zuko either has rehearsal too late, or is too tired, and he just stays in his own bed. Sokka misses him. He’s right there, just on the other side of some glass, and Sokka misses him.

Mai, on the other hand, gets to see him everyday. Sokka tries his best not to be jealous, but it doesn’t really take. Zuko is barely ever around, and he’s spending everyday with his ex-girlfriend. His ex-girlfriend who broke up with _him_ , not the other way around. Sokka remembers how upset Zuko was that day. He hadn’t wanted to break up. For all Sokka knows, those feelings could still be there, and spending everyday together, playing love interests — there’s no way that’s helping Zuko get over her.

_You need to trust him,_ Sokka tells himself. But he doesn’t know how to force himself to do that. He’s never really trusted anyone before — he’s not even sure what it’s supposed to feel like.

Meanwhile, Zuko won’t stop texting Sokka about college. It’s the absolutely last thing that Sokka wants to spend his limited time with Zuko talking about, but Zuko is hellbent on convincing him to at least apply. They come up with a list together of mostly New York schools. That way, if Zuko gets into American Ballet Theatre — and everything points to that happening — they can be in the city together. At least Sokka can look forward to that.

But he probably won’t even get in.

Sokka can’t wait until Nutcracker is over. And Prix de Lausanne, too. Then Zuko will finally have time for him. But by then, it’ll be spring, and they’ll be graduating soon, and who knows what that’ll mean for them?

With Zuko always gone, always rehearsing... Sokka hates to admit it, but it reminds of his dad. Always working, never making any time for the people he supposedly cares about.

Sokka doesn’t know what to make of it. Maybe he’s just not the type of person that people prioritize. It makes sense — his dad wouldn’t even do it, and he’s his _dad._ And his mom went even farther than that. So why would Zuko put in effort? Why would anyone?

But Zuko swears up and down that Sokka is important to him. That it’s just a weird time, with the Nutcracker and the Prix happening together.

Well, soon that time will be over. The Nutcracker runs from the day after Thanksgiving to just before Christmas. Of course Sokka will be there opening night. Zuko’s working his off on this, so of course Sokka wants to see it. He doesn’t care about ballet, but he cares about Zuko.

But he’s not sure who to go with. It scares him to think of sitting alone in that theatre, surrounded by all these people who know about ballet, who care about these things and can understand what they’re talking about is terrifying. Sokka can’t shake the feeling that they’d know just by looking at him that he doesn’t belong there. That he’s a fraud.

He asks Katara to come with him, but she has a swim meet. He doesn’t really know who to invite besides Jet. Haru is out of the question: his reaction to Sokka’s coming out was skeptical at best, and inviting him to a ballet might just push him over the edge.

Jet laughs at the invitation, but agrees to go.

So on a Friday night after Thanksgiving, Sokka buys flowers for Zuko at the drugstore, picks up Jet, and makes his way to the theatre.

“Dude, are you wearing a button down shirt?” Jet asks. He’s wearing a tee-shirt with a stain in the front.

Sokka blushes. “Yeah,” he mumbles, suddenly second-guessing his decision. He thought this was the type of thing you dress nicely for — it’s a ballet, after all. Plus, he thought Zuko would like it. Zuko put so much effort into this show, the least Sokka could do is dress well for it. But maybe he shouldn’t have.

“I’ll probably ditch you after the show,” Sokka says to Jet. “I want to take Zuko out to dinner afterwards.” To the type of place where people wear button downs.

Jet rolls his eyes.

“What?” Sokka asks. “I’m being a good boyfriend.”

Jet smirks. “Because Zuko is such a good boyfriend in return.”

“He _is_ a good boyfriend,” Sokka insists, though he isn’t sure if it’s true. “He just has a lot going on right now.”

Jet shrugs.

At the theatre, they run into Toph. She’s wearing glasses, and blinks at him several times before speaking to him.

“Hi Sokka,” she says, smiling half-heartedly. “Hi, Jet,” she says, not smiling at all.

“Hey,” Sokka says. “What are you doing in the audience?”

“I took this Nutcracker off, to focus on the Prix. I just thought it would be too stressful to do both.”

“Oh. Maybe Zuko should have done that.”

Toph smiles softly. “Maybe. But now he gets to be Cavelier, and he’s wanted that for a really long time.”

Sokka nods hesitantly. Sure, Zuko got what he wanted, but he doesn’t seem happy. He just seems tired.

Zuko and Jet find their seats — not too close to the front so as to draw attention to themselves, not so far in the back to seem uninterested.

“Time to see what all this is about,” Jet mumbles.

“All this?”

“Zuko’s obsession.”

Zuko stiffens slightly. The curtains open.

The show begins with families arriving at a party. Children everywhere. This scene carries on for a while.

“Where is Zuko?” Jet whispers.

Sokka shrugs. “I guess he’s not in this scene.”

Next, a bunch of rats appear, along with toy soldiers. They fight. Jet snickers.

“Shut up,” Sokka mumbles, although he doesn’t really get it either.

A bunch of women dressed all in white enter the stage, dancing to intense, beautiful music as snow falls on them.

“At least they’re actually dancing now,” Jet mumbles. “What were they doing before? It was mostly miming.”

“I guess it was setting up the plot?” Sokka guesses.

The snow scene ends. Mai — or the Sugarplum, rather — enters the stage, practically floating. She’s graceful and elegant and weightless, seeming to walk on clouds. Sokka wants to strangle her.

Mai leads the two children to a chair, and the curtains close. End Act I.

“What the fuck,” Jet says loudly. “Where the fuck is Zuko?”

“I guess he’ll come on in Act II,” Sokka mumbles.

“He’s been blowing you off for a month for this, and he’s not even in the first act?”

“He’s the male lead,” Sokka says, feeling bloodless. That’s how Zuko described the role to him — the male lead. But where is he?

“Also, I don’t think I’m following the plot. Like, at all.”

“Me neither,” Sokka admits.

“I also don’t find the dancing that impressive. Why are all these children on stage?”

“The snow part was kind of cool.”

“I guess, but it sort of dragged after a while.

Sokka sinks in his seat. He just wants to see Zuko dance, and pretend he understands what he’s looking at, and give him his flowers and take him somewhere nice.

Act II begins, and Sokka keeps his eyes wide and focused, searching for Zuko. But he still can’t find him. Instead, there are a bunch of short dances, where they act like they’re food from different countries, and there’s seemingly no plot. And no Zuko.

“This is stupid,” Jet says. “And boring.”

“And racist,” Sokka adds. A trio of white girls just did “Chinese Tea,” according to the program.

“Where the fuck is Zuko?” Jet asks, and Sokka just shrugs, feeling equally impatient.

He didn’t come here to watch ballet, he came here to watch Zuko. And Zuko, who has put their relationship on the back burner for _months,_ is apparently barely even in this. Sokka’s bored, and so is Jet.

“Did you hear about Suki and that kid from student council?”

“No,” Sokka says. “What happened?”

“Well, they started dating, but he sent her nues his friends, so she sent his nudes to his _parents,_ and...”

They gossip. They talk, and joke, and occasionally peak at the ballet and say something snarky about it. Sokka tries to keep it to a whisper, but occasionally heads turn and sush them.

And finally, _finally,_ Zuko walks on stage. In a purple shirt and white tights, makeup covering the scar on his face. Mai is there, of course.

“What is he wearing?” Jet says, laughing.

“A costume,” Sokka hisses. “Shut up.” This is what they came here for.

Zuko and Mai begin a long, dramatic, romantic duet. Zuko’s fucking _good,_ good enough that even Sokka, who knows nothing about ballet, can tell. Even when he’s just walking — the way he stands, his purposeful gaze, his long, graceful limbs — it’s mesmerizing.

He barely lets go of Mai the entire time they’re dancing.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” Jet asks.

“He’s dancing,” Sokka mumbles.

“He’s standing behind her and holding her while she dances,” Jet says. “And she looks like she’s going to drop dead, by the way. I know ballet dancers are skinny, but come on.”

Sokka shushes him. He wants to watch. He wants to see what all those blown off hangouts, all that exhaustion, all that stress was for.

“I’m bored,” Jet groans, a minute later.

“Shh.”

“This doesn’t even look hard.”

“I think that’s the point.”

“I don’t get it,” Sokka says.

And Sokka... Sokka doesn’t really get it either. He understands that it’s beautiful, he understands that it’s mesmerizing, but is it really worth what Zuko puts into it? He can’t understand why Zuko would make himself so miserable for this. Why he’d make Sokka miserable.

“This is so dumb,” Jet says.

Sokka stays silent, tries to watch, tries to be appreciative. But Jet keeps making little snide comments every couple moments. _His dick is like, fully out in those tights,_ and _I’m surprised he can even lift her, he’s so skinny._ Snickering whenever Mai kicks one of her feet towards the sky, her legs opening.

Sokka doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell Jet to shut up again, but it seems like a bad idea. Like he might end up on the other side of the taunting if he pushes Jet too much.

His chest feels tight with nerves. Part of him wants to defend Zuko, but Zuko can’t even hear what they say right now, so what does it even matter? Easier to just let Jet have his way.

“Gaaaay,” Jet drones at one point, deadpan, and the simplicity and stupidity of the insult shocks Sokka into laughing.

And Sokka doesn’t really know how it happens, but suddenly they’re talking and laughing through the rest of the performance.

Everyone returns to the stage for bows, and Zuko smiles brightly, eyes tracking around the audience. As he takes his bow, he looks gleeful. Sokka stands up and cheers.

“Okay, bye,” he says to Jet. He has instructions from Zuko to meet him in the lobby, and he doesn’t want Jet around for that. So he holds his flowers with both hands and waits, excited to kiss Zuko.

In the lobby, the walls to the outside are all glass. So he can see Zuko coming, walking next to Mai, laughing and smiling. Before they walk through the door, they hug, and Sokka can swear he can see Zuko’s mouth form the words, “I love you.”

_There’s nothing there,_ Sokka tells himself. Reminds himself that Zuko tends to be platonically affectionate. That he’s the same way with Toph, and there’s no way there’s anything there. But no amount of logic can fight off the jealousy that crawls up Sokka’s neck.

Zuko walks through the door and looks around. Sokka waves, but Zuko’s looking somewhere else, searching in the wrong place.

“Zuko,” Sokka calls, and Zuko’s head snaps towards him. He grins at Sokka, taking a few steps forward, but he’s intercepted. A few adults are talking to him, hugging him, smiling at him. Zuko seems to preen under the praise, like a cat that’s been meowing all day and is finally having its head scratched.

Eventually, he breaks away from the group and starts to make his way towards Sokka. But Toph grabs his arm, pulls him aside.

Sokka can’t hear what she says, but her gaze is intense, her face grave. Sokka watches as the smile drops from Zuko’s face, and dread pools in Sokka’s stomach.

Zuko turns to look at Sokka, his lip curled, his eyes dark and unforgiving. Sokka stands back, feeling as though his body has been drained, and he’s filled with nothing but air.

Zuko marches over to Sokka, snatches him by the wrist, and drags him outside.

“It was a great show,” Sokka tries. “You were incredible.”

Zuko laughs, but it doesn’t sound like a laugh. He leads him to the parking lot out in the back, where there are fewer cars, fewer people. The sun has long set, and any heat has disappeared with it. Zuko lets go of Sokka’s wrist and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, backing away. Sokka can barely see him in this low light. His face is shrouded in darkness — Sokka can only see the tense silhouette of his body.

“If you hate ballet so much, just don’t go to my performances,” Zuko spits. Sokka’s never seen him angry like this before. He’s seen him frustrated, disappointed, shocked. He’s seen anger after it’s been simmering for a little while. But he’s never seen the moment Zuko becomes angry. He’s never been on the other end of it.

Sokka stares. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Toph was in the audience, she could hear everything you said.”

Sokka exhales shakily, feels his whole body turn wobbly. “Zuko...”

“Why did you even bring Jet?” Zuko spits.

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t have,” Sokka says, knowing that it’s true. Since when has putting Zuko and Jet in a room together _ever_ been a good idea? Apparently, it doesn’t matter the size — a room is a room, and Jet and Zuko will blow it up.

“You said you’d keep him away from me!” Zuko cries, his eyes flashing in betrayal.

“That’s why I told him to leave after the show — I didn’t want him to talk to you, I just wanted to have someone to sit with in the audience.”

Zuko stares at Sokka like he’s something incomprehensible. “You should have just not shown up. If going to this is such a fucking chore for you then you should have just stayed home. The ticket could have gone to someone who would actually appreciate it.”

Sokka has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “You’re going to pretend that you wouldn’t be angry if I didn’t come tonight?”

Zuko scuffs his shoe against the concrete. “It would be better than showing up and mocking me and my friends the entire time. We _all_ worked our asses off for that — you saw how hard I worked for that.” He shakes his head and laughs. “But I forgot that it’s like, _so lame_ so to care about things.”

Sokka doesn’t know what to say, so he just starts talking. “Zuko, I get that you like ballet, and I respect it. But it’s a very niche thing, and it’s, it’s different, and if my friends and I don’t always get it then—”

“My _friends and I—_ it’s always about your friends, what about _you,_ Sokka?”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry for talking during the show, but just admit you can’t stand my friends. It’s not anything deeper than that.”

Zuko sneers. “You act like you’re so much better than me just because you’ve wasted more time than me. Just because you’ve had more ‘fun’ than me.”

And Sokka doesn’t think that he’s ever met anyone with less awareness than Zuko. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so enraging. He feels heat rising within him — he’s used to people assuming the worst in him, for Zuko to act like Sokka thinks he’s _better_ than other people?

“ _I_ act like I’m better than _you?_ Maybe take a look at your own behavior.”

Zuko’s face crackles into something unrecognizable. “I _have_ taken a look at my own behavior. And I’m proud of myself and what I’ve accomplished, and I’m sorry if it’s not always _fun_ for you. And you and your friend can mock me all you want for caring too much about my career, but at least I’m good at something! At least my life is going somewhere! Unlike yours.”

And it’s as if Zuko has just thrown fire at Sokka, and the only way Sokka can keep from getting burned is to throw it right back at Zuko’s heart.

“Yeah, well that’s all fine and good until you get injured and have a complete fucking breakdown because you have _nothing else going for you,”_ Sokka spits. “And hey, maybe that’ll be more entertaining than what I just had to sit through, for _you._ I support you. Do you support me?”

Zuko laughs. It’s not that hysterical sound he made earlier, but an actual laugh, as if Sokka’s statement is so far-fetched there’s no other way to react. “What do you want me to do for you? What is there to support? If you actually accomplished something, I’d congratulate you, but you haven’t, so—”

“ _Sorry_ that I’m not a ballet robot,” Sokka screams. The few people in hearing range are staring at them now — Sokka doesn’t care. “There’s more to life than being the best at something. I don’t need the validation of standing in front of an audience with people clapping just to feel good about myself.”

“You’re pathetic,” Zuko drawls, tucking his hair behind his ears in a strange, intentional way. As if he’s trying to look superior and too cool, but it’s obvious he’s gotten everything he knows about mean girls from movies. “At least I admit what I care about, at least I have the guts to go after what I want! Your whole schtick is that you don’t care about anything and you don’t care what people think of you, but every fucking thing you do is for other people’s approval! All because—” Zuko’s eyes widen in mock-pity. “What, your daddy didn’t give you enough attention?”

“I feel bad for you,” Sokka mutters.

Zuko smiles mockingly. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, because no one in your life treats you like an actual human being. And you just go along with it! I don’t know if that’s pathetic or just narcissistic. But I don’t treat you like everyone does. I treat you like a person and that pisses you off. So yeah, I feel bad for you.”

“I don’t feel bad for you at all,” Zuko says, shrugging. “All of your problems are your own fault. You don’t deserve anyone’s pity.”

Sokka inhales noisily, like a bull. “You think that anyone besides me actually likes you?” He asks. “All those people in the lobby congratulating you — you think they actually care about _you?_ Your teacher, your friends, even your dad. They don’t like _you._ They like that you’re a good dancer.”

“That’s a fucking lie. They care about me. My dad cares about me.” Zuko’s face has changed into something Sokka’s never seen before, something contorted and flamy and _hurt,_ and Sokka knows he’s gone too far. He’s gone too far, but Zuko’s gone too far too, and he can’t stop.

“Not enough to even take you to the hospital when you burned half your face though, though,” Sokka quips.

Zuko goes silent, stares. Looks more confused than anything else. “What are you talking about?”  
How can Zuko not know this? “Your little sister had to run over to my house to get help. _My_ dad took you to the hospital. No one even knew where your dad was.”

Zuko drops his gaze to the ground. “That’s not true,” he murmurs. “My dad took me to the hospital, I remember.”

“Well, you remember wrong.”

“You’re lying.” Zuko squeezes his eyes shut.

“Believe what you want,” Sokka says, not wanting to deal with this line of conversation anymore. He’s not here to unpack whatever the fuck happened to Zuko that night. “But the only thing those people like about you is that you can dance.”

“Well,” Zuko whispers, his eyes dark and unrecognizable as they bore into Sokka’s, “at least they like something about me.”

Sokka swallows. He and Zuko stare at each other for a few moments more, tense and tired and tortured. Only in the silent stillness can Sokka feel the tears that soak his cheeks. In the moonlight, the tears that glisten on Zuko’s marred skin under his eye, that shine on the undamaged side. Someone sniffs, someone else sobs.

Sokka knows in that moment: there’s no coming back from this.

“Don’t talk to me again,” Zuko whispers. He turns and walks away.

Alone in the darkness, Sokka slams the flowers onto the pavement. He steps on them as he walks away.

***

"Are you still around?" Sokka asks. He's crouching on the ground just outside the theatre, his back scraping against the concrete walls. He can feel the wind rap against him sharply, the chill beginning to hurt the skin on his face.

"What?" Jet's voice is tinny and raspy through the phone. "Yeah, I'm still around. I'm waiting for an Uber because you wouldn't drive my home, asshole.

_Asshole._ He knows that Jet didn't mean it as anything more than a friendly jab, but maybe that's what he is. The argument between him and Zuko feels blurry, almost. The only thing that rings clear in his mind is the acid that accompanied them and how it burned.

"Sokka? You there?" Jet asks.

Sokka swallows in a dry mouth. "Yeah. Yeah. Um, actually, I'm not going home with Zuko. So you can cancel your Uber. I can drive you home."

"Oh, lit," Jet comments. "Wait, why? What happened with Zuko?"

"Uh, we just..." Sokka shakes his head. How does he even begin to explain the shit show that just occurred?

The phone call lapses into silence. Sokka can hear Jet breathing on the other line, can hear the moment when Jet decides not to push any further.

_What the fuck did Sokka just_ do?

Another gust of wind comes, and Sokka feels like crying. No wonder his dad is never around, no wonder Katara always avoids him, no wonder his mom is gone. When Sokka acts like this, why would anyone want to stick around?

By the time Sokka arrives at his car, Jet is already standing there, his lips chapped and his eyes livid.

"Fuck him," Jet starts as Sokka unlocks the car. He keeps talking as they climb in. "Fuck him, seriously. Who needs him? Zuko's a shitty boyfriend, and he's fucking lame, and honestly you can do way better. I never mentioned the scar on his face, because I thought that was like, kind of going too far, but that shit is _ugly,_ and you should really be with someone attractive, not -"

Sokka lets out a deep, guttural sob, letting his chin fall against his chest.

"Oh," Jet whispers. "Oh, Sokka, I'm sorry." He reaches across the console and takes Sokka's hand in his own. "I'm so sorry."

Sokka sobs once more, and squeezes hard.

***

Jet offers to take him out to a party, offers him free weed, offers to take him to a strip club with a fake ID, but Sokka just ends up lying alone in his bed in the dark, staring out his window. He waits for Zuko to come home, waits to see him in the same body that Sokka knows, unscathed at least physically. But Zuko doesn't come home that night.

A sleepover at Toph's, maybe?

_Or Mai's,_ a bitter and relentless part of his brain supplies.

The next night, Zuko does come home, and sees Sokka staring from his bed. He makes a bee-line for the window and yanks the curtains shut, scowling. Sokka swallows his tears.

Every year of high school, Sokka and his friends have spent every day of Thanksgiving Break together. None of their families celebrate Thanksgiving, but the few days off from school are nice. Jet hosts bonfires, Haru hosts movie marathons that always include some sort of drinking game. Suki bakes pot brownies, Sokka tries and fails to make moonshine.

Sokka feels a little guilty for skipping out on the tradition in their last year of high school, but he feels more guilty for the whole _being a terrible person to his boyfriend_ thing. But the guilt churns with hurt and anger, and his brain won’t stop producing new rebuttals and arguments days too late, new ways to rip Zuko to shreds.

He's never been a part of something like this before. Has never felt so much like everyone is a villain and the world has no heroes. Has never felt like more of a fraud — putting on a button-up shirt, bringing Zuko flowers, looking up nice restaurants to bring him to. He remembers what Zuko said to him weeks ago, when Sokka couldn't tell which version of himself was real. _Decide._ As if Sokka had a say in the matter.

And for a while, Sokka thought that he was right. That maybe if he just _did_ good, then he could _be_ good. Now he knows how wrong he was. Everything sweet and kind and loving that Sokka did for Zuko was a lie, even if Sokka didn’t know it at the time. It wasn't real, it was just to cover up the innate badness inside him. Beautiful icing on a rotten cake.

Sokka doesn't even know what Zuko is, what this argument makes Zuko. Sokka pushed him hard, encaged him in a trap, but Jesus, don't animals usually gnaw off their _own_ legs to get free, not someone else's?

He can't believe that they're the same people they were a few weeks ago, eating sandwiches in Central Park. Holding hands in bookstores, sharing desserts in crowded restaurants, pretending to be adults in expensive hotels. Was that really them? Did they really feel that happiness?

Weeks pass, and they don't talk. Zuko's housekeeper opens his curtains in the morning, but Zuko snatches them closed every night. Apparently Sokka is so visibly miserable that even Katara can tell, around the house as infrequently as she is. She tries to coax information out of him, but all he'll tell her is that they broke up. She forces him to stop skipping school, wakes him up at 4am and drags him along to her morning swim practices. He watches from the side. Watches his baby sister be kind and smart and talented, and he wonders how they could possibly be related.

Jet is sympathetic, but mostly seems glad to be rid of Zuko. Constantly talks about how Sokka should be dating someone he has more in common with, someone who's less "pretentious." But Zuko's pretentiousness has grown on Sokka, and why would Sokka want to be with someone he has things in common with? He can't even stand being with himself, he doesn’t need a clone.

There isn't much school between Thanksgiving Break and Christmas Break, but this might be the most inopportune time to fall apart in all of high school. Sokka's teachers start pulling him aside, telling him he has to get his shit together before final exams or else college will be completely out of the question. Sokka has never been that into the idea of college, but he's definitely not into the idea of literally failing out of high school either. And there are certain elements of school that Sokka's good at. He can cram for exams better than anyone, can pull A-quality essays out of his ass in a couple of hours. It's the consistency that's a problem.

And there's nothing like a burst of fear to motivate him.

Sokka finishes off the semester with grades all over the place: an A in English, a C in History. Whatever. He doesn't even know if he wants to apply to college anyway.

Jet throws a party on the last day of the semester, but Sokka just wants to lie in bed and do nothing. He knows he's being dramatic, falling into a depressive episode or _something_ over a fucking breakup, but his relationship with Zuko was like, the one good thing in his life, so he thinks he deserves a little bit of drama.

Jet comes over on the first day of break, spends the day getting high with Sokka. As day turns to night, Sokka starts looking out the window, trying to see when Zuko gets home. Eventually, Jet notices.

"You'll get over him," Jet said. "Don't worry about him."

But Sokka couldn't. Zuko almost always slept in his own bed, was normally too tired to have sleepovers elsewhere. But now it was happening somewhat frequently. What changed? Is he back with Mai? Did Zuko really moved on that quickly? 

Sokka and Jet stay up late watching movies and objectifying women. When Jet sleeps over, he usually sleeps on the floor. But tonight, he sleeps in Sokka's bed with him, curls around him. It's tender in a way that their friendship has never been, and Sokka doesn't understand it. Sort of wishes Jet would stop, but he also understands that this is Jet's way of being sweet, and he doesn't want to be an asshole.

Sokka and Jet sleep late, but Zuko still isn't home by the time they wake up.

"Are you in the mood to day drink?" Jet asks.

"Fuck yeah," Sokka says.

The only alcohol they have is vodka, so they make screwdrivers and drink that before they even drink any water. Katara scowls at them when she sees them in the kitchen, so they take the bottle of vodka and the jug of orange juice up to Sokka’s bedroom and drink on the floor.

Jet's unusually affectionate, keeps draping himself on Sokka's lap and burying his fingers in his hair. It's fucking _weird._

They're obliterated by the time there's movement next door, and Sokka's vision lags like a video-game on bad wifi when he turns his head to look. He expects to see Zuko slip through the cracked door and trudge over to his bed as always, but that's not the image that appears. Instead, the door swings fully open, and behind it are both Zuko and his dad. And Zuko isn't walking at all.

Zuko is sitting in a wheelchair.

Sokka searches him for a cast, a boot, _something,_ but there's nothing there and _holy shit, what just happened?_ Sokka wants to break the glass on the window and he wants to curl up in and pretend that none of this is happening.

"Oh, shit," Jet says, his voice sounding muffled and muted, as if he's under water.

Zuko shrugs off a jacket, unveiling a brace that engages his torso from hip to collarbone.

"Oh, _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ " Sokka says, his voice sounding unfamiliar even to himself. He's pulled to the window, his entire body feeling numb.

What happened? How bad is this? Zuko's in a back brace, injured his back to the point where he needs a wheelchair, and —

"Is he paralyzed?" Sokka gasps out.

"No way," Jet says. "No one comes home from the hospital after one night if they're paralyzed."

"He can't walk!"

"Just because he can't walk right now doesn't mean he's _paralyzed,_ Jesus Christ, Sokka. A little dramatic."

But as Sokka watches as Zuko's dad wheels him over to the bad, it doesn't feel dramatic at all. _It's not the end of the world,_ people often say, but this might just be the end of Zuko's world.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. "Sokka. You're not breathing."

Sokka sucks in air rapidly, pushes it back out.

"Okay, now you're breathing _too much,_ shit, Sokka, _calm down."_

"It's my fault," Sokka blurts out.

"What? How could this possibly be your fault?"

The words of their argument keep ringing in Sokka's mind: _That’s all fine and good until you get injured and have a complete fucking breakdown because you have nothing else going for you. Maybe that’ll be more entertaining than what I just had to sit through._

That must have jinxed things, somehow. He must have sent something into the universe when he said that, he must have tempted something somewhere. Because Zuko was fine, he was _fine,_ and now-

Now.

_Put your money where your mouth is, Sokka,_ he thinks to himself. _Wasn't this what you said you wanted?_

He chokes on a sob. He never meant for Zuko to get hurt, not like this, not at all.

"Sokka?" Jet asks.

" _Leave,"_ Sokka growls, not taking his eyes off of Zuko. He hears footsteps, a shutting door.

Zuko's dad has helped him into bed now, scowling the entire time. He looks unhappy in a way that's somewhat unnerving — there's something about the way his lip twitches upward, the way his eyes narrow, the way Zuko flinches away from his words. He doesn't seem upset that his son is in pain. He seems angry.

Zuko's father leaves the room and closes the door behind him. Sokka watches as Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, a tear trickling down the side of his face, and he feels as though something splintering and rough has been placed inside his ribcage.

Zuko lets his head fall to the side, and through the window, his eyes find Sokka's. They stare at one another, watching each other's faces crumble. 

"Zuko," Sokka whispers. It's strange, the way that Zuko's pain seems to blossom inside of Sokka's mind.

Zuko shuts his eyes and turns his head away. Grabs a pillow and throws it over his face.

Sokka can't see him, not even a little bit. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay okay holy shit. im sorry. im so sorry. i knew this chapter would be painful but i dont think i realized just how painful until i actually wrote it. im sorry
> 
> if it's any consolation, i would say that this is about as bad as it gets.
> 
> also! sokka mentions being afraid that zuko's paralyzed, but jet is right. zuko's not paralyzed, he just has a back injury that is currently preventing him from walking. but all the nerves are in tact and he doesn't have any loss of feeling. but yeah uh this is a shit show and im very sorry
> 
> new note, 2/08/21: hello everyone! so its been forever since i last updated, but i just wanted to let you all know that this fic is NOT abandoned. ive been having some mental health issues. got diagnosed with ocd after years of suspecting that i had it. its good to have a diagnosis, but i have been going through some shit. so thats why ive been mia. but im going through treatment, and i think its starting to work. anyway, ill get back to writing as soon as im feeling better. please hang in there!

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my second ever ATLA fanfic! I hope you all like it. I'm a little worried about the characterization, but it's an au, so I figured I had some freedom...
> 
> I'm kingzuk0 on Tumblr if you want to talk


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